


To All the Dead I've Grieved Before

by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Becho will be resolved offscreen in this fic, Canon Post S5, F/M, Psychological Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-09-14 06:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky/pseuds/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
Summary: The first one visited her the first week they landed on the new planet.Clarke considered herself a relatively stable person. The years had wore her down, sure, but she found pockets of happiness whenever she could. Whether it be the feeling when you dip your toes into water, or the weight of a pencil in a hand.~~~~~~~~~~Everything on the new planet is as good as Clarke could've ever hoped for: relatively uneventful. The landing site was slowly being built into a city, their Eligius neighbors were cautiously friendly. Everything is quieting down for the first time since she can remember. Except when she sees her father one day - real, tangible, and talking - Clarke begins to wonder if losing everything over and over again made her finally lose the one thing she's kept hold to over all these years: her mind.





	1. Jake Griffin

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT AM I DOING. I JUST FINISHED THE PRICE OF PEACE.
> 
> Oh well. This is who I am. I’ve embraced it.
> 
> So, this is inspired by a sorta-spoiler released of S6, as well as how much I enjoyed writing (and needed) the last scene of The Price of Peace. I’m about to say it, so if you’re trying to stay totally in the dark, just skip ahead! This is inspired by the actor who plays Clarke’s dad being involved in S6, and Eliza Taylor saying that Clarke is going down a path she didn’t expect. 
> 
> So, this is canon-compliant up to the end of S5. This will be less plot-driven than The Price of Peace was, and more character metas in the new planet. Eligius will be less menacing here, and it will be very character-driven. One thing I want to state upfront is Becho will be broken up off screen – I’m not going to break them up in this fic to do that like I did in The Price of Peace, as this is a Bellarke fic. Mainly because this is primarily Clarke-centric and she’ll be doing some stuff that will distract her from it. So just assume that Becho ends the same way they started – off screen.
> 
> This will be a bit of a character study, instead of hard hitting plot.
> 
> Let’s do this again!

TO ALL THE DEAD I’VE GRIEVED BEFORE

_By ChasetheWindTouchtheSky_

CHAPTER ONE

_Jake Griffin_

 

 

The first one visited her the first week they landed on the new planet.

 

Clarke considered herself a relatively stable person. The years had wore her down, sure, but she found pockets of happiness whenever she could. Whether it be the feeling when you dip your toes into water, or the weight of a pencil in a hand.

 

This new planet had all the elements of happiness, but it felt more like a puzzle that she couldn’t quite figure out. It perplexed her to the point to where she just threw herself into work on the new planet in order to find it. Any element. Any missing piece. The only issue is it climbed into her sleep and made it so she could only get slivers of it at a time. If she could stitch her sleep together into a blanket, it wouldn’t ever cover her whole body.

 

Sleep didn’t seem as important, as long as things still moved forward. The human race taped itself back together, covering wounds from war and death.

 

Then something strange happened.

 

The new planet brought new challenges, new climate, and new problems that they never expected on the ground. In any other instance, Clarke would be thrilled to have new challenges – a way to busy herself from the pain that the earth left on her. She wore that pain as clearly as the scars on her back from Praimfaya, shouldering it as she would her rifle. The first few weeks on the new planet were gloriously uneventful, outside the healing of the sick and the sick hearted.

 

When she sees him, he’s a few yards away.

 

He’s wearing a soft blue shirt that she’d only seen the likes on the Ark, not worn by weather or time. There aren’t any holes ripped into it and there’s no dirt smeared across the front, like all of their clothing. Clarke’s in the middle of hammering a foundation of a cabin she’s been assigned to, but she stops to stare at the man.

 

The word _“Dad”_ is on her lips, but she manages not to say anything. Jake Griffin stands at the edge of the water they’re creating their camp on, the water shimmering with the light of the binary suns that are high in the sky. The tool in her hand is all but forgotten and her arm drops, unable to focus on anything else. He smiles at her and gives her a slight wave, as if they see each other every day.

 

“—larke! Clarke!”

 

Clarke flinches when someone grabs her shoulder, and she’s unable to stop the instinct of raising the hammer into a striking position. When Murphy puts his hands up in the air at the gesture, she huffs a sheepish laugh. “Sorry, you startled me.” She mumbles, as if that would that would excuse nearly clubbing him.

 

“I’ve been calling your name for like ten minutes.” Murphy says, frowning. When Clarke fixes him a look, he continues, “Okay, that may be a little dramatic, but I was calling your name from over there. And you ignored me, which was very rude, seeing as I have been nice every day since we landed on this planet.”

 

“You punched Miller in the face yesterday.”

 

“Yeah, I was being nice by having Bellamy’s back. Sometimes my niceness manifests itself in violence. What of it?” Murphy shrugs. Following her sight to the sea, he asks, “Did you see something?”

 

Clarke returns her attention to the edge of the sea and it’s as barren as it was when she started her task. Her gaze lingers there for a moment, as if he’d walk back out and wave once more, but she shakes her head. “No,” she breathes, unable to tear her sight away. “I didn’t see anything.”

 

“Yes, because you’re acting like someone who hasn’t seen anything.” Murphy drawls, clearly disbelieving. “I feel like I should be worried, but at the moment I honestly don’t care. They’re asking for you – Eligius IV is back with some supplies and they thought you should be there. For some reason they didn’t want my negotiation skills. I have no idea why.”

 

“You know the expression ‘your bark is worse than your bite?’” Clarke asks, setting the tool down and falling in stride with him. “Your bark is just as bad as your bite and they’re both painful.”

 

“I’m going to take that as a glowing compliment.”

 

“As you should.”

 

The landing site is growing quicker than Clarke ever imagined. The two weave throughout half-built houses and tents. Their Eligius neighbors have been more hospitable than Clarke ever expected, then again her only experience is with fighting for her life on a new planet. She wonders if the fighting part of her life is over.

 

It’s odd, she should be more relieved than she is. Instead, there’s a part of her that aches because she’s been fighting for so long, she wonders who she’ll be without it. She’s thrilled to leave the Commander of Death behind, but without her, who was she? It’s a question she asked herself often during her peace in the valley. Who is the Commander of Death with no one left to kill?

 

An empty shell, it seems.

 

Murphy adjusts his shoulder, wincing slightly. “How is that healing?” She asks, frowning at the movement. “Have you been following the treatment plan?”

 

“Oh, to the letter, doc.” Murphy snorts. “There’s nothing I like to do more than exercises three times a day. I mean, if it were two times a day, I’d be like, ‘fuck that.’ But three times a day? That’s the sweet spot.”

 

“Those exercises are for your own good. The only way you’ll be back to the range of motion you had before is if you do them every day. It’s not just because my mom likes to mess with you.”

 

“I feel like that’s a little bit of it.” Murphy mutters.

 

Lifting an eyebrow, Clarke says, “It’s at least the fun part.”

 

“You Griffins are all the same.” Murphy scowls.

 

He nudges her side, but she can’t bring herself to do anything back. Instead, she looks over her shoulder at the edge of the water, where she could’ve sworn her father stood.

 

He seemed to real. The way the corner of his mouth turned up before he broke in a smile or crossed his arms while shifting his weight. The warmth in his eyes.

 

Clarke isn’t a stranger to hallucinations. Between strange Ground foliage and dehydration after Praimfaya, she had some experience between determining what was real or not real. Except this time…

 

“What is up with you today?” Murphy asks. “I know being by yourself for six years made you weird, but you’ve kicked it up like, five thousand notches today. I suggest you stop your exorcism of Emily Rose bit while we’re talking to our new neighbors.”

 

“If I haven’t said it recently, Emori is the luckiest woman in the world with this sort of charmer at her side.”

 

“She really is, I’m aware.” Murphy states, preening a bit. “But seriously, you’ve got this kinda crazy look in your eye. The same look Raven gets when you mess up her work bench or Bellamy gets when you get facts about Greek mythology wrong.”

 

“I’ve seen Bellamy when that happens. I can’t possibly look like that because then I’d look _deranged_.”

 

“I was trying to think of a nice way to tell you.”

 

“You’re never nice.” Clarke states. “Not unless you want something.”

 

“Are you questioning my motives, Griffin?”

 

“Do you honestly think I would do anything but, Murphy?”

 

Murphy narrows his eyes, but then sighs. “Fair enough. And this may come as a shock to you, but not everything I do has an ulterior motive.”

 

“Getting shot changed you.”

 

Murphy tilts his head back and actually laughs, wrapping an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and pulling her close. “See _this?_ This is why I’m so annoyed you didn’t make it back in time. No other human would ever understand the beauty of nihilistic humor other than you. I could’ve had six years of dark Clarke Griffin humor and that was stolen from me. I tried to make jokes like that on the Ark and Bellamy would give me motivational lectures about living life to the fullest.”

 

“And you never punched him?” Clarke asks, trying to ignore the ghost pain of being left behind.

 

“Three times actually, but it was for other reasons.” Murphy shrugs. “Bellamy has a very punchable face.”

 

“I’m fairly certain there’s a handful of people who would say the same for you.” Clarke snorts.

 

The two arrive to the center of the landing site, where a handful of people are gathered around. Clarke sees the figures of the Eligius crew, as clean cut as people can be surrounded by forests. Their clothes aren’t stained with dirt and blood, and their eyes aren’t haunted with the ghosts of the dead. In a way, Clarke envies them and their lightness.

 

Before Clarke can move to join them, Murphy grabs her arm. Confused, she turns to find a serious-Murphy, something she rarely finds and something that never is a good sign. “You good?” He asks, not humor behind his words.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Are you good?” Murphy repeats. He nods to where the group is, a few noticing them and waving them over. “Are you solid?”

 

Clarke smiles at him, hoping it’ll cover any concern. “Always, Murphy.”

 

Pulling away, she approaches the group with the same smile, hoping it belies any concern she’s feeling. “Clarke, it’s so good to see you.” One of the figures says when she approaches. “It seems like our suns are agreeing with you.” Russell is nice enough. His eyes are warm in a way that can only be made from a soft world. If anything, it makes Clarke more hopeful than she’s been in while.

 

“I’ve missed the sun.” She says with what she hopes is an easy smile, but when she catches Bellamy’s eye, she knows she’s failed.

 

She’s not the only one the new planet has changed. The longer they’ve been on the planet, the more she sees a Bellamy she’s not familiar with. Clarke thinks it may have been who he became on the Ark without war, but the Ground took that away from him the moment his feet hit it. As soon as war passed and there was nothing more than the threat of the wild, he was infinitely lighter. He smiled freer than Clarke ever imagined him and people gravitated toward him like he was his own sun.

 

Now he’s looking at her like he used to on the Ground, when he realized she was lying to everyone around her. Like then, he doesn’t say anything, but his expression is clear: they will talk about this later.

 

“We were hoping you guys could come to our city. We could trade some knowledge. We don’t have any formally trained doctors – everything we’ve learned from resources our ancestors packed with them on the ship. I have to believe that there’s more information than three medical journals and a poor knock-off of _Gray’s Anatomy_. If possible, we’d appreciate Abby and Jackson coming with you.”

 

Abby, who’s off to the side with Kane and Diyoza smiles. “Of course. I’d also recommend Clarke coming along with us – out of all of us, she has the most experience with on the ground triage, which is what I imagine you’re mainly up against.”

 

Clarke startles at the admission, but thinks back to all the surgeries she did in the dark – in the rain. It’s the only time having blood on her hands didn’t feel the same as having the weight of the world.

 

“We were hoping Clarke would come anyways, and now we finally have an excuse.” Russell smiles. “Of course, we’d be happy to have you join us. There are many people who have more questions regarding the herb concoctions that you’ve created.”

 

“Of course,” Clarke says, feeling a little too singled out to be comfortable. “I’ll be a part of the team.”

 

The entire meeting is as congenial as all the other ones, Clarke trying to focus as much as she can. She continues to draw her gaze to the sea, wondering if her father will show up again.

 

He doesn’t.

 

The ghost of her past follows her around for the rest of the day, lingering behind her eyes. She picks up her rations for the evening and makes her way to the sea, planting herself at the edge of the coast. Setting her rations aside, Clarke takes her shoes off, tossing them into the sand. The gentle waves of the sea brush up against her toes making her shiver, but it’s a welcome cold.

 

Clarke can hear the ruckus from behind her, like a blanket she can never use to warm her. It was too set in everyone’s ways that she’s alone all the time. Perhaps she should be used to it. She’s always wandered alone.

 

“This space taken?”

 

Clarke startles at the noise behind her, Bellamy sitting down at her right, ration in hand. Clarke tries to keep her smile to herself and fails, turning her head to face the water. “Would it matter to you if I said it was?” She asks, unable to keep the teasing tone out of her voice.

 

“Not really,” Bellamy says, smiling. He breaks off a piece of his ration and puts it in his mouth. “There a reason you’re endlessly fascinated by water today?”

 

Clarke’s startled by his bluntness, but she supposes he’s always been a bit face forward. “Just… beautiful.” She lies. There’s a deep longing in her voice that she hopes will make him drop it, but if Bellamy is anything like he was over six years ago, it won’t be the case. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it. Praimfaya took away most large bodies of water.”

 

Bellamy doesn’t answer right away. He follows her sight to the edge of the water, watching the suns slowly nestle on the other side of the world. “I watched the earth rotate every day.  I could only see a patch of green. No blue.”

 

Clarke turns toward him. Bellamy rarely speaks of his time on the Ark – at least not to her. She’s seen the closeness that the group had. For a very small, selfish moment, she lamented at this fact. But there’s no reason to dwell on it. She didn’t make it. “I’m sure that was painful.” Clarke finally answers. “Watching the world die.”

 

“There are more painful things.”

 

Clarke supposes that there are. She can still see the ghost of a smile on her father’s lips, eye lit by a sun he never saw. “You know, I’ve been slated to go to the Eligius city as well. It’s been a while since you and I have traveled to a new city. Had a day trip of sorts.”

 

“It’s never really worked out for us in the past, though, hasn’t it?”

 

“We still breathin’, aren’t we?” Bellamy smirks.

 

She can’t help but laugh at that. “That we are.”

 

“You know, people are asking about you.” Bellamy states. “They find it odd that you’re not jumping to be a part of the decision making. That you’re hanging back.”

 

“There’s a new Commander now.” Clarke states, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “No one wants their ousted leaders telling anyone what to do.”

 

“You weren’t ousted, Clarke. The world ended.”

 

“It did.” Clarke says, reaching for her rations. She breaks a piece off, but rolls it around in her fingers. She doesn’t say what she’s thinking. _Feels like it has again_. “You know, we never really had any time to talk about your time on the Ark.”

 

Bellamy freezes at her side.

 

“I’m not trying to pick a fight with you.” Clarke says with a slight smile. “I’ve been endlessly curious about what happened up there. How you guys got everything working, how it was being back there. Hell, how it was being up there with two Grounders.”

 

“That was a bit of a trick.” Bellamy laughs, relaxing. “They didn’t like the metal. Took Echo longer than Emori. It’s harder to get used to something totally foreign to you if you actually had a home. Murphy, on the other hand, found all his old stashes. Managed to stockpile four bottles of whiskey without any of us noticing, until he showed up drunk to dinner one night. Monty was pissed that he hid it for so long. Chased him for twenty minutes.”

 

“I would’ve liked to see that.”

 

Bellamy’s laugh falters. “It wasn’t the same without you. You should’ve been there.”

 

Shaking her head, Clarke says warmly, “Everything happened exactly how it had to. And you guys seemed to do great up there.”

 

“Yeah, it was good,” Bellamy states. “But still not the same. I thought we’d – actually, probably no point in even saying that. You know,” Bellamy continues, his tone light. “I think at some point, we’re going to have to train you to stop being so comfortable with being alone.” He grins at her. “Or at least remind you that there are other people all around you.” He jabs his thumb behind him.

 

She doesn’t even glance behind. “I don’t mind being alone.” She says distantly, watching the sunset. “It’s in my nature.”

 

“What?”

 

Clarke doesn’t need to look at him to know what expression he’s staring at her with. The worried, thoughtful one. “It’s the old child story.” Clarke explains.

 

“My stories were more of historical nature.”

 

Grinning to herself, Clarke mutters, “Of course they were. My dad,” she chokes on the word, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “My dad would always tell this story when he was trying to explain the Ark Council decision to me. There once was a scorpion and a frog. The scorpion needed to cross a river, so he asks a frog. The frog says, ‘No, I can’t help you because you’ll sting me and I’ll die.’ And the scorpion responds ‘I promise I won’t, I just need to cross the river.’ So the frog tells him to climb on his back. Halfway cross the river, the scorpion stings him.” Clarke reaches out and pinches Bellamy’s forearm, bare skin exposed in his rolled up shirt. He flinches at the touch, which makes her smile. Her father used to do it to her whenever he told this story. “The frog says, ‘Why’d you do that? Now we’ll both drown!’ And the scorpion says, ‘I’m sorry. It’s in my nature.’”

 

Neither of them say anything for a while.

 

“It’s no one’s nature to be alone.” Bellamy states. “Humans aren’t meant to be alone.”

 

“Some are.”

 

Bellamy reaches out to where she is, brushing her hair out of her face. His fingers linger there, as they always did whenever he reached out. Clarke hates the fact that she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she allows herself this selfishness. It calms the quickness of her heart and the mercilessness of her mind. “That group does not include you.”

 

Clarke finally pulls away.

 

“You should go back to the group.” Clarke states. “There’s no need to be here. I was just watching the sunset.”

 

“I’m good. I like a good sunset as much as the next person.” Bellamy states. “I think I’ll stay here.”

 

Clarke opens her mouth to argue, but finds the words lost in her throat. They fizzle there and fade, along with the light in the sky.

 

If she’s honest with herself, she enjoys the company.

 

***

 

Sleep eludes her as she shifts on the ground, facing the night sky. Clarke focuses on the stars shining above her, pleading with them to let her sleep. It isn’t the first day that sleep has escaped her grasp and she knows that it won’t be her last either.

 

“Clarke.”

 

When the voice breaks the silence of the camp, Clarke isn’t surprised. It’s warm, comforting, like it has been her entire life. Or, at least the beginning.

 

Sitting up, she faces the figure standing at her feet. “Dad.”

 

Jake Griffin stands before her, looking as soft as he’s ever been. Clarke struggles not to run into his arms, balancing on her elbows. He smiles down at her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

 

Tears well in her eyes and she repeats, “It’s been a really long time.”

 

“Care to take a walk?”

 

Clarke surveys the land around her. A few yards away, Madi sleep close with a handful of guards around her. Bellamy’s to her right, with Echo, Raven, and Shaw close by. The entire camp is peacefully asleep, save for a few people on the perimeter. No one’s awake to tell her it’s a bad idea. It’s probably the only reason she says, “Okay” to a ghost.

 

Hoisting herself upright, Clarke moves next to her father and is close to him. The two make their way through a dense wood, Clarke pushing vines out of her way. She isn’t used to the foliage on the new planet, but isn’t used to even more the way her father leans closer to her.

 

“You’ve grown up well, Clarke.” Jake states, his smile teasing. “This new planet suits you.”

 

Clarke doesn’t respond. She’s doing everything she can to remain as stoic as possible, but her hands are trembling. In fact, it moves to her whole body. She tells herself it’s the chill of the planet – the drop of temperature drastic when both suns dip – but she flinches when her father moves closer to her. “You are not real.” She states, doing everything in her power to keep her voice steady.

 

“Not in the way that you view things as real.”

 

“How do I view things as real?”

 

Jake grins. “No need to accuse, I know you. You’re my daughter. You’re my wife’s daughter. You view things as real as living, tangible things. You need to see it, you need to touch it. You have to have your hands on a heart, but it leaves you unable to believe the most important thing in the world is real.”

 

“And what is that?” Clarke asks, unable to stop herself from taking the bait.

 

“Love.” Jake states matter-of-factly. “You may have believed in it at one point, but it’s further and further away. You have drenched your hands in blood and you have held hearts, but you can’t see or hold it, so it doesn’t exist to you.”

 

Clarke turns to face him, her eyes red and sharp. “Are you saying I didn’t love you?” The words are almost deranged. She’s losing grip on reminding her that this isn’t real. “That I’m incapable of it?”

 

“No, honey, no.” Jake says, reaching out to her. Clarke takes a quick step back, making sure to put as much space between them as she can. “You love more than anyone I know. I’m saying you don’t believe that anyone can give it to you back. You don’t see the world as I was able to. On the Ark, we may have had our challenges, but I was put in the situations you were. You lost pieces of yourself.”

 

Clarke tells herself that she is losing her grasp – she’s seen too much, felt _too much_ , lost _too much_ , and now is losing her grip on reality. “You are a figment of my own mind. You’re saying things that I’ve wondered.”

 

“You’ve wondered them because you’re clever.” Jake states. “I’m saying it because I know you.”

 

“You’re not real.” Clarke states, her chin trembling. “P-Please.”

 

“Honey,” Jake says, moving forward, reaching out. “You have been carrying the burden of mankind for too long. Don’t you think that it’s time for someone to take care of you?”

 

“Please go away,” Clarke whispers, a tear finally falling.

 

“Are you not happy to see me?”

 

Clarke doesn’t know how to answer that. The moon is pouring through the branches, casting a cool light on Jake’s face. Standing in the light, Jake finally looks as what he is: a man deceased. His skin is pale and tinted blue, eyes hollow.

 

“No.”

 

The two stand in the woods, a few feet apart. Clarke can barely hear the noises of the forest around her as she stares at her father. “No?” He asks.

 

“No.” Clarke states, her word breaking. “I do not want you here. There are no answers from the dead that they didn’t leave on earth.”

 

“You and I both know that’s not true, Clarke.” Jake states. “The dead always speak. It is you who has no desire to listen. You carry their weight on you, but you never open your ears.”

 

“Please stop.” Clarke states. “Please.”

 

Jake smiles. “I would never do anything to hurt you. In this life or the next. But,” he states, moving forward in the forest. “Why don’t you and I take a walk? We don’t have to talk about this any longer. We can just walk and catch up. What do you say?”

 

She knows it’s not real. But the world is so hard.

 

“Okay.”

 

Jake smiles at her and for a moment, she feels safe. “Okay. Why don’t we talk about how I once convinced the Council to give me three days off for research and I spent it playing with you when you were born? I didn’t think they’d ever find out, except Kane stopped by to see how I was doing. I honestly didn’t think the man had emotions until I saw him get angry.”

 

Her dad talks and talks. He talks until he drowns out the sounds of wildlife around her and the aches in her heart.

 

***

 

Clarke wakes up to light.

 

Lying on her back, Clarke blinks a few times, disoriented. The back of her head is wet and it isn’t until she sits up does she realize she’s on the uncovered ground. Leaves and grass stick to her skin and she peers down to see that she has no shoes. Her toes are covered in grime and dirt, flecks of blood prickling where she must’ve stepped on branches.

 

There are a few things that hit her when she wakes up. The first being, she’s not wearing shoes. Secondly, she is alone.

 

Finally, and the most alarming, she has no idea where she is.


	2. Wells: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves!
> 
> Thank you SO much for reading this! Oh my goodness, I am always so blown away when people read my stuff, I’m just so overwhelmed and grateful. Thank you!
> 
> I’m so sorry for the delay – I got a bit busy and I’m also in the middle of writing my Bellarke Secret Santa fic, which is totally getting away from me (is anyone surprised). It’s turning out much longer than I anticipated, so I’m frantically trying to get it done in time while writing this one as well.
> 
> As for this chapter, it is “Wells: Part One.” Jake will be an undercurrent in this whole fic, and I also had my ‘a ha!’ moment this weekend of exactly where I want this to go. Also, a few people mentioned how much I love isolating Clarke… :P I can’t help it after S5 – there’s just so much unresolved tension! The big difference between this fic and TPoP is that Clarke is doing it to herself. People are going to be very worried the deeper we get into this… one of which may be a certain man with curly hair…
> 
> Let’s do this!

CHAPTER TWO

_Wells: Part One_

 

The world has never felt so different.

 

“Okay, Clarke.” Clarke says to herself, turning around. The earth feels impossibly cold under her feet, the scratches from the previous night stinging as she shifts her weight. “You’ve been in worse spots before. Just take a breath and figure it out.”

 

Clarke tries to find a point on the planet that she finds familiar, but everything is so _different_. She spent her entire life studying the earth and now that she’s on a different planet, she doesn’t have a clue what to do. Even tracking shadows is complicated with the multiple suns, so Clarke merely stands in the center of the clearing at a loss. It’s not often she genuinely isn’t sure how to proceed, but early in the morning, when the dew is still on the leaves, she stands there.

 

Inevitably she decides that moving in any direction is better than moving in none, so she pushes past where the branches seems somewhat broken and makes her way through the forest. The trees are oddly shaped, slanting to the ground as if gravity is growing too hard for them to continue on. She moves quietly across the new planet, every sound heightened as she works her way through.

 

She nearly leaps out of her skin when she hears a large clanging noise, sighing with relief when she brushes back a few branches to see the smoke from camp. Now, the suns are high in the sky and she knows she’s late. People mill around, but she’s surprised to see a few familiar figures at the edge of camp. Bellamy paces as a few people shuffle anxiously around him. Cursing under her breath, Clarke sprints toward her tent where her stuff is, doing her best to remain as invisible as possible.

 

She’s almost clear when she hears a ‘oh my god, Clarke’ breath of relief behind her. She freezes, her hands at her tent zipper, slowly turning around. Surprised, she says, “Shaw?”

 

Shaw moves toward her, an easy smile on his lips. “Where have you been? Everyone has been really worried. We were planning to leave a while ago, but Bellamy wouldn’t go unless we found you.”

 

Clarke tries to ignore the way that makes her chest ache and feel light all at once. “I, uh, went exploring this morning and got lost.”

 

It’s probably one of the most unconvincing things she’s ever said.

 

Except she can’t quite think straight. Her mind is on her father and the soothing stories he told her until she drifted off. Stories she swears she didn’t know and a voice she always would remember. It warms her cold skin and icy heart in a way that she hasn’t been able to do so in a very long time.

 

“Without shoes?” Shaw asks, peering down at her feet.

 

Granted, it was pretty damning.

 

Her feet aren’t just bare, but they’re black and bloody. She’s in her tank top, skin glistening in the suns, and shorts that she would wear on the earth when the summers were too hot.

 

“I like to feel the earth under my feet?” She says in an entirely unbelievable way. Shaw lifts an eyebrow in response. “Can you just… tell everyone I’ll be there in five minutes?”

 

Shaw shifts uncomfortably, throwing a look behind him. “Clarke, listen—”

 

“Please?”

 

She puts as much feeling into it as she can, her hand still on the zipper of her tent. Shaw breaks after a few seconds of intense eye contact, as she figured he would. He sighs. “Okay, fine. Just… if you need anything. I mean, I know you and I don’t know each other very well and our only interaction was me holding you hostage, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

 

Clarke startles at that, looking up from her tent.

 

Shaw smiles sheepishly. “Sometimes talking to someone who doesn’t know everything about you is helpful. I won’t judge.”

 

Clarke considers it. She isn’t sure why, but she does, rolling around the thoughts in her head. “It’s nothing,” she settles on, unable to express what happened the night before into words. “I got lost. I’ll apologize to the group when I get there. Thank you, but I just lost track of time.”

 

Unzipping her tent, Clarke hurries inside, closing it behind her. Her hands brace against the ground as she takes a quick breath, trying to set herself for it. “Not real,” she breathes to herself, closing her eyes. “None of it is real.”

 

“Clarke!” Someone shouts on the other side of the tent.

 

Hurrying, Clarke shoves her feet into socks, wincing as they scrape against her tender skin. She runs her fingers through her short hair to get as many leaves out as possible, throwing her jacket on quickly as she stumbles out of her tent.

 

Everyone is staring at her when she jogs over. “Where the fuck have you been?” Murphy exclaims when she’s in earshot. “If it were literally any other person, I would ask who you were banging, but what the fuck happened? Did you forget we were making a very important trek to nice neighbors who haven’t tried to murder us?”

 

“I slept in.” Clarke states without really thinking about it.

 

“Got lost.” Shaw corrects under his breath.

 

“Got lost.” Clarke says, trying her best to remain neutral. “I-I was exploring this morning and totally forgot how to get back.”

 

It’s clear that no one believes her, but she all but challenges them to call her out on it. Madi mentions something about starting the trek from the front and she falls into the back, rubbing her hands. They’re still icy from the morning, blue tinted under her skin. She’s perfectly content bringing up the rear of the caravan, her mind shuffling through everything that happened the night before, when a figure falls in line with her.

 

“So, you got lost?” Bellamy asks, words stiff like they usually are when he’s upset and doesn’t want to admit it.

 

“Yes.” Clarke answers far too quickly. “I went exploring this morning and couldn’t recall where I was.”

 

He doesn’t respond right away. He trudges alongside her quietly and for a moment she’s transported back to the Ground, where the two would walk, side-by-side, without so much as a word. She found comfort in that, often more content with silence then endless noise. Except now she knows he’s searching for the _right_ words, not that there aren’t any words at all. They’ve been apart and at odds for a while, but she still knows when he’s angry and Bellamy is _seething._

 

“You… went exploring?” Bellamy says, his words tight.

 

Clarke marvels at his control, even though she knows something’s brewing underneath.

 

But she can’t just tell him. It would sound absolutely insane – she was having trouble with resolving it with herself. So instead she merely says, “Yes. I was used to doing it all the time before, I just thought I could get a quick walk in. But tracking is so different on this planet, with the multiple suns and everything. I got lost.”

 

“Clarke—” Bellamy says running his hand down his face. “I know that you feel like you are okay to just wander around, but I feel like I need to remind you that we’re on a foreign planet. You can’t just wander off anymore – we need to make sure there are fallbacks and—”

 

“Bellamy, stop. I understand.” Clarke says. “I wasn’t… thinking. I—”

 

He seemed so _real._

 

Her dad was right before her and then he wasn’t and she isn’t sure how to handle it. Her body is still chilled from the night and she rubs her hands together, telling herself that she needs to regroup.

 

Before she can say anything, Bellamy reaches out and places his hands on top of hers. “You’re cold.” He states when he does, almost accusingly. She isn’t sure what to say to that, but she takes her hands out of his, shoving them in her pockets.

 

“It was a cold night.”

 

He doesn’t believe her and she doesn’t expect him to. Bellamy’s standing next to her, his body taught like it had been when they’d gone to war so many times before. Except there isn’t a war and there’s only _her_ and the lies she’s sharing with him. It’s enough to make her want to hide, but she can’t bring herself to explain what led her to the middle of the woods the night before.

 

“Clarke,” Bellamy starts, his words softer than she imagined they would be. She thought Bellamy would be all fire and anger, as he once was.

 

Then again, Bellamy wasn’t as he once was.

 

If anyone needed six years to regroup after the horrors of the Ground, it was Bellamy. He was softer in the best ways and firm in the strongest. When he marches alongside her, she feels the broken pieces in her chest shift into place. Honestly, she hates what that implies. Bellamy is the healthiest version of himself that he’s every been – and he’s done that _without_ her.

 

Now, she’s falling apart.

 

She can’t bring him into that.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you can talk to me.” Bellamy states as the gap between them and the rest of the group grows.

 

“Bellamy—”

 

“Before you launch into whatever excuse you have – about getting lost or whatever – just know that I understand that you feel like you can’t talk to us. It’s been a long time and we need to stop pretending it hasn’t.” Bellamy lets out a breath. “But you’re not alone anymore, Clarke, do you understand that? That you don’t have to carry the weight of the world – and humanity – on your shoulders anymore. If something’s going on with you, I want to know. Or – you can tell someone else.”

 

“There’s nothing going on.”

 

The lie slip through her lips as though it’s something natural. She wasn’t used to lying to Bellamy every, but then again, none of this is familiar.

 

She tries to smile at him, but something about it feels foreign on her mouth. “I got lost this morning and it was stupid.”

 

“So stupid, Clarke.”

 

“I shouldn’t have gone off by myself.” Clarke watches as Bellamy moves slightly away from her, as if she’s a bomb. In a way, she supposes she is. She’s always been ready to explode.

 

When she does, people die.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Bellamy’s jaw clenches in a very familiar way. It’s nice to know he has ticks that are still himself, even after all the years apart. “Look, I know you’re used to doing your own thing. You were on the Ground by yourself—”

 

“I had Madi.”

 

“—you had a child with you. It’s not the same as having someone with you to support you and you know it.” Bellamy says gently and she snaps her mouth shut. “But it’s not the same. And sure, we may not be going to war and our neighbors seem nice enough, but I’m not going to risk your life – or anyone else’s for that matter. Until we’ve had peace for more than a few weeks, please grab someone before you want to explore. Hell, grab me.”

 

“I get up early.”

 

“ _I_ get up early, Clarke, and you know that.”

 

“Do I?” Clarke asks, unable to stop herself.

 

“Don’t you?” Bellamy asks. “I’ve always been an early riser. You of all people should know that.”

 

“Six years is a long time, Bellamy.”

 

She shouldn’t have said it. She regrets it the moment the words are out of her mouth.

 

He looks at her in a way she can’t read. He’s always been thoughtful and pensive in a way people forget, it seems time simply brought it out in him. She aches for him like he’s gone again and doesn’t understand why.

 

He’s standing right there.

 

“I’m still me, Clarke.”

 

“As am I.”

 

When she says it, she can’t help but wonder if she just lied.

 

***

 

The Eligius camp feels like something out of a book that Clarke would read on the Ark. Two hundred years have treated them well – they have rows of house and a city center that looks like the Earth before it was destroyed. There are even plants carefully plotted along the pathway as they walk – a level of control against nature Clarke has never seen.

 

“Two hundred years buys you some houses and a tree?” Murphy scoffs. “Hard pass.”

 

Someone nudges his shoulder to get him to shut up, but Clarke knows that Murphy will continue with whatever commentary he feels appropriate. She appreciates it, actually. It settles the nerves within her that she can’t quite understand. As if he knows it, Murphy hangs back until he walks beside her, as Bellamy makes his way toward the front.

 

“You’re not going to follow?” He asks, nodding to where Bellamy is standing. “Aren’t you two, like, and unbreakable team or something?”

 

“Did your time in space make you soft?”

 

“Do you think I want to say things like ‘unbreakable team?’” Murphy exclaims. “It’s not my fault that I’ve dealt with Bellamy enough over the past six years that I know exactly what kind of pouting is going on. And this, my friend, is a Clarke-pout.”

 

Clarke fixes him a look. “A Clarke-pout?”

 

“You have to know the one, especially since it’s been directed _at_ you so many times. The one where he crosses his arms and pretends that he’s all cool and not upset, but is secretly crying on the inside?”

 

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

 

“Do it. See what I care. I’d say it to his face.”

 

Unfortunately, she knows he’s telling the truth.

 

“Actually, I think I have a few times on the Ark. I dunno, it all kinda blurs together because Bellamy was super annoying.”

 

“Coming from the guy to demanded he had a whole wing of the Ark to himself.”

 

“I thought _you_ , of all people, would understand that, Ms. I Must Be Alone Whenever I _Feel_ Things.”

 

“That’s hurtful.”

 

“But true.”

 

“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”

 

Murphy and Clarke walk through the rows of houses and marvel at how carefree people are. They’re simply… existing. Clarke’s never known a peace like that. Everyone’s always been dying, everyone’s always needed so much from her, she’s never been able to just exist in life.

 

Yet here these people are, existing.

 

They meander through the street and aren’t afraid, only casting weary glances at them. Clarke knows logically they’re an intimidating group with their armor and war-deadened eyes, but even that doesn’t deter them from greeting each other on the street.

 

Murphy looks up at this too. “Do you think we’ll ever get this?” He asks, a serious question that he usually saves only for a select few.

 

“Get what?”

 

“A house, a calm life. No war, no A.I.s threatening to murder us, no end of the world?”

 

“Boring life that we saw in pictures on the Ark?” Clarke asks, hating that her voice sounds wistful.

 

“Things where we complain about our neighbor’s lights or that our boss is annoying.”

 

“When we think about the future, it’s about families and what we’re going to cook for dinner.”

 

Murphy sighs. “You and I don’t get endings like this, Clarke.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“Everyone else, maybe. But the world will never accept the Cockroaches.”

 

“I know.” Her words are soft and there’s longing there. It’s a small part of her that she rarely allows to feel. Hope that one day, everything will be better for her.

 

This is why she loves Murphy, though. Everyone would try to placate her with hope. He knows, though. There’s no hope for a cockroach. There’s only survival.

 

“But if we could have it,” Clarke says, still not looking at him. “What would yours look like?”

 

Murphy startles. “Huh?”

 

“If Cockroaches won the day, what would that look like for you?”

 

Murphy laughs. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Clarke. We’re not suppose to want that sort of thing, you and I.”

 

“I know, but humor me. It’s only us around.”

 

He makes a face, but his mouth curls into a smile and Clarke knows that she has him there. “Well, I think if I could have anything I wanted, it’d be a house with Emori.” He answers thoughtfully. “Honestly, I don’t know if I want kids – if you had asked me on the Ground, I’d say no because everything was so terrible there. But here…? I dunno, I could see that. I think I’d like to be a cook of some kind, I really do like it. Or a butcher. Use it to get my aggression, you know?” He smirks, nudging her arm. “Other than that, everything else is inconsequential. I’d like it if…” He sighs. “Ah hell, I’d like it if we were all close. On the same street or something. I got so used to you all being around, you’ve duped me into thinking I need you guys.”

 

Clarke smiles at that, unable to stop herself. He nudges her side. “What about you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“I got all open and honest with you, the least you could do is do the same.”

 

Clarke thinks about this. Once upon a time, she would’ve been able to answer this. But her dreams and past are drenched with so much blood, that she can’t see past it. “I—” she starts to answer, but falters. “I wouldn’t even know what to wish for at this point.”

 

“You have to have something to wish for. You haven’t thought about settling down? Having kids? Doing the whole ridiculous cliché thing?”

 

“I did once.” Clarke states. “In a passing, it would be nice kinda way. But everyone kept dying and that… that part of me went along with it, I think. At this point, all I’d want is to never hold a gun again.”

 

“You need higher goals.”

 

“Yeah, well, like you said.” Clarke moves toward the rest of the group. “Those dreams aren’t for people like me.”

 

“Us.” Murphy corrects, eyes narrowing. “I said people like us.”

 

She doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t agree. She doesn’t know when Murphy stopped being a cockroach, but she knows after his speech, he isn’t one now. That part died of him in Praimfaya, she thinks.

 

The rest of the group is huddled before a large building made of wood and concrete. Some of the design Clarke recognizes from art books she snuck on the Ark, curves perpendicular to the straight geometric lines. It must’ve taken quite a while to build without the tools of the earth before it died. “You’re here,” Russell moves down the steps with a smile. “I was worried when you didn’t show earlier in the morning.”

 

“We had a momentary delay,” Bellamy states, all anger from his voice gone to the unobservant listener. Clarke knows him well enough to know it’s still brewing there. “Sorry we’re late.”

 

“No worries,” Russell says with an easy smile. “It takes some time to get used to strange planets. We understand. Why don’t we move this inside, I’m sure you all want to take a moment and sit down.”

 

Every looks at each other. It’s the strangest thing anyone has said to them in years. Indra all but makes a face at that, which is more hilarious than anything. “Sit… down?” She asks suspiciously.

 

“You’ve been walking for quite some time, yes?” Russell asks. “Why don’t you come inside?”

 

Murphy leans into Clarke and whispers, “You know you’re fucked in the head when you’re murderously suspicious when someone’s decent to you.”

 

Clarke has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

 

Russell brings them all into a large room, at the center a rather large wooden circular table. There are enough chairs for them and then some, along with cups of water and various snacks. Everyone waits for Madi to take a seat before following suit, Clarke putting herself between Murphy and Diyoza. She’s far away from the majority of people, off in the corner where she hopes she’ll be relatively invisible.

 

This lasts all of five seconds.

 

“Clarke,” Russell says jovially. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a few of our medics along today. This is Jason and Richard. Since Abby said you’d be the one to discuss triage, I was wondering if you’d discuss some skills with them.”

 

Clarke only hesitates for a moment. “Of course.”

 

“That’s such great news.” Russell smiles and leans to where Kane and Abby sit. “As much as I wish it weren’t so, ever since our population started to grow, we get a lot of injured kids. It turns out that kids make foolish decisions everywhere, not just earth.”

 

“Don’t we know it.” Abby says good-naturedly. She eyes Clarke, though. Clarke knows while her mother and she haven’t been the closest once they reunited and Clarke managed to help quell her addiction, Abby would know the medical signs of exhaustion better than anyone. Sure, Bellamy and Murphy can call her out on it all they want, but they can’t actually prove anything.

 

She can.

 

“If you don’t mind, I may join this.” Abby states. “Unfortunately, Clarke was on all night watch and hasn’t had any time to rest.”

 

A few people bristle. Clarke can’t help her shock – she’s seen Abby lie to people before, but that was over a matter of life or death.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You could’ve stayed in camp, Clarke.” Russell says, noticing the tension build in the room. “We could’ve met another time.”

 

“It’s no problem.” Clarke says quickly, wishing everyone would stop focusing on her. “I—”

 

The words catch in her throat when someone catches her eye.

 

It’s as if the air is sucked out of the room.

 

“Clarke?” Someone asks.

 

“I-It’s fine. I’m fine.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure when she stopped being good at pretending she was alright, but it was getting obnoxious. Bellamy’s eyes narrow from his side of the table, while even Diyoza tilts her head next to her. “Sorry, just tired.” Clarke laughs, still unable to stop staring at the corner of the room. “But, I’d be happy to.”

 

Bellamy looks behind his shoulder and frowns.

 

Wells leans against the wall, as solid and stoic as he’d always been. It’s the way she remembers him – a fortress in the dark times. He doesn’t smile at her, though. If anything he looks concerned.

 

The meeting continues, but Wells won’t stop staring at her. He’s clad in a black shirt with deep blue pants, a color that brightens the otherwise drab room. Clarke isn’t paying attention to what people are saying – honestly, she has no idea what the discussion is about at this point – but she looks to the food beneath her hands that she’s slowly picked to pieces without taking a single bite. Clarke isn’t sure why, but she needs something to do with her hands and picking apart a piece of bread seems to be the only thing.

 

Logically, she knows she should be hungry, having run to the city without anything to eat for breakfast. But the idea of eating something while Wells simply… _stands there_ is almost too much to bear.

 

Fortunately for her, people don’t seem to mind that she’s keeping to herself. Sure, there’s the occasional glance to see how she’s acting, but Clarke hopes as long as she keeps her head down, she’ll be able to get out of this meeting with minimal concern.

  
Except, Wells moves.

 

He heaves himself up from where he’s leaning against the wall and moves around the table, his fingers brushing the backs of chairs as he passes. He pauses when he reaches Bellamy’s, smiles softly to himself when Bellamy starts to talk about working together to get their own camp up and running, and then makes his way closer to her.

 

Her eyes are blurring. Clarke isn’t sure when they filled with tears, but she’s doing everything in her power to remain as emotionless as possible. And not being successful about it.

 

It’s as if the entire rest of the world falls away. She can’t hear or see anyone else other than Wells.

 

He stops right before his hand grazes against her chair. “Clarke.” He says softly.

 

His hand reaches out to grab her shoulder and she springs onto her feet, her own chair clattering to the floor.

 

Everyone stops what they’re saying.

 

Clarke knows what this looks like. She knows what her disturbance just did. Eyes red and wild, standing. Clarke couldn’t be more conspicuous if she tried. Opening her mouth to give an excuse, she finds there is none.

 

There’s only Wells.

 

“I’m sorry, I just need to step outside really quick.”

 

Before anyone can argue with her, she’s out. The moment she’s out of the building, she’s running.

 

She’s running because she’s terrified and doesn’t want to see Wells staring at her. She’s patched together with tape and glue and she doesn’t need people to watch the pieces crumble.

 

Clarke wonders if anyone is actually following her, but is too afraid to find out. So, she reaches for the only solace she can find: a small shack with a cracked door. Opening it and shutting it quickly behind her, Clarke leans against the back and takes a breath.

 

The shack is silent.

 

Opening her eyes, Clarke is greeted with the most magnificent color she’s seen in a long time. Paintings hang from every corner of the wall, papers strung from the ceiling. Buckets of paint are stacked in the corner while dried brushes line the walls in cans. Clarke moves around the small area, brushing against the papers and leaning toward the paintings on the wall. They’re all beautiful and different and calming.

 

“May I help you?”

 

Clarke all but leaps in the air.

 

Whirling around, she sees an elderly woman before her, even shorter than she is. The woman is wrapped in a turquoise shawl with a long, flowing dress, her silver curls pinned to the top of her head. “I-I’m so sorry,” Clarke says. “I came in without knocking or asking, I just—”

 

“Do you like art, my dear?”

 

Clarke is startled by her gentle tone, seeing as she literally just broke into the woman’s house, but manages, “Yes.”

 

“I could tell. You can always tell who has held a paintbrush by how close they get to a painting.” The woman grabs Clarke’s arm and leads her through the room. “There’s nothing I love more than when I get a paintbrush in my hand. It was such a rarity when I was growing up, now that I’m old and less productive, I get to do it more.” She leans into Clarke to whisper conspiratorially, “At least that’s what I argue so they’ll leave me alone.”

 

Clarke can’t help her smile. “Are these all yours?”

 

“Most, yes. Some are people who come simply for a haven away from whatever difficulties they’re dealing with. It may not solve all the problems, but it makes them a tad more bearable.”

 

“I get that,” Clarke says absently.

 

The woman tilts her head. “Judging by your clothes, I’d say you’re one of our new friends from Earth?”

 

“My name’s Clarke.”

 

“Louise.” The woman says. “Pleasure to meet you Clarke. Now,” she places a hand on Clarke’s back and leads her to the back of the room. “Why don’t you join me for some tea and we’ll discuss what had you so abruptly coming into my shop.”

 

“Oh, I can’t—”

 

“It’s the least you can do for giving an old woman as much excitement as you have. I haven’t been so startled since I was in my forties, so that should say something.”

 

Clarke doesn’t really know how to answer that, so is able to be shoved by the woman outside into a small garden in the back of her shop. The plants there are dazzling. They’re filled with color and curves, all the tones carefully planted together to bring out the best in each other. Clarke knows only an artist would ever be able to do something so beautiful. Louise motions for her to sit on a small stool in the middle of the garden, shuffling around until she comes back to two mugs of tea. Handing one to Clarke, Louise perches on her own chair. “So, my neighbor, what brings you to the city?”

 

“We’re discussing how to trade skillsets.”

 

“What might you have to offer?”

 

It’s an odd way of putting it, but Clarke tries to answer anyway. “Uh, I have some background in medical—”

 

“What do you have to _offer_ , Clarke?”

 

Louise asks again, except this time, Clarke isn’t sure exactly what she’s asking. She tries to think of everything she’s done, everything she could offer the world, and…

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Louise sets her tea. “I suppose that’s the problem, isn’t it? What can we give to people when we think we have nothing to offer? It’s the plight of the broken.”

 

“I-I’m not—”

 

“It’s the duty of the artist to love broken things.” Louise says gently. “You begin to see them everywhere.”

 

“With all due respect, ma’am, I—”

 

_“Clarke!”_

 

She freezes. She knows that voice anywhere. Louise peers up. “Looks like someone’s searching for you.”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke sighs. “Actually, I should—”

 

“May we meet again, Clarke.”

 

Clarke stiffens at her expression. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“I’d like to see you again. And I think you will.”

 

Clarke tries not to be too shocked, but the words ring in her mind. She tells herself it’s a coincidence, setting her mug of barely-drank tea aside. “Y-Yeah. I hope so.”

 

She makes her way through the shop, opening the door.

 

When she does, she stops.

 

Wells stands before her. “I thought we got over the avoiding me thing.”

 

“Wells.” Clarke breathes.

 

Pushing past him, Clarke moves through the streets. He jogs to catch up, as if no time had passed between the two of them. She marches back to the center of the city, hoping that if she’s surrounded by enough people to drown out whatever is going on.

 

“Come on, Clarke. I thought we got past this? You and I were going to finally make up for all that lost time.”

 

“Do you remember why that never happened?” Clarke asks, her voice a little on edge. Apparently losing it is a new permanent state of being.

 

“Clarke—”

 

“You died! That’s right, you _died_.”

 

“Clarke, come on.” Wells states, grabbing her arm. He yanks her toward a back ally of the city, hiding the two in the shadows.

 

It gives her a real opportunity to look at him, no matter how much she doesn’t want to.

 

Reaching out, she gently places a hand on his chest. He’s as real and solid as her dad was. Flinching back as if he burned her, Clarke recoils until her back is flat on the wall. “I’m not going to hurt you, Clarke.” Wells says, his tone gentle. “I would never hurt you.”

 

“What are you doing here?” She asks. “Why are you here? Why is my dad here? What are you doing to me?”

 

“I’m here for you, Clarke.” Wells says, reaching out for her hand. She doesn’t tear it away, even though she knows she should. His palm feels warm underneath her fingertips and he holds her there. “It was supposed to be you and me on the Ground. Do you remember that, Clarke? We used to talk about it all the time. What we would do if we ever got the opportunity.”

 

“I remember.” She whispers.

 

It was always supposed to be her and Wells.

 

As much as she always tried to push her best friend out of her mind, he was always there. The weight of his death, she carried with her like a badge that she could never take off. She spent what little time she had with him hating him, a pain he took willingly. Tears spring in her eyes as she peers at him, her best friend by her side. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

 

“How was it supposed to be?”

 

“You were supposed to be alive and here!” She cries.

 

“I _am_ here, Clarke.”

 

“Not alive, though.”

 

That’s the rub, isn’t it?

 

“Why are you here? I don’t need to be surrounded by the deaths I’ve caused.”

 

Wells softens and grabs her shoulder. “Is that what you think?”

 

Without a waiting for an answer, he reaches out and grabs her and wraps her in a hug. “Get off of me!” Clarke states.

 

She can’t do this again. She can’t feel the warmth of someone she loved and lost. She can’t have them in her arms one minute and gone the next.

 

“Please, get off!”

 

Wells merely locks his arms tighter so she can’t escape them. “I told you, Clarke. I’m here for you.”

 

“Please…”

 

Clarke stops fighting, though. She presses her head against his chest as the tears fall.

 

She can’t hear a heartbeat.

 

It grounds her in the reality that this isn’t real. She can feel his warmth, she can feel him underneath her fingertips, but there is nothing. “It’s how it was always supposed to be, Clarke.” Wells whispers in her ears. “You and me on a new planet. Why aren’t you happy?”

 

“Please go away.”

 

Wells breaks apart, his eyes watering. “Is that what you want?”

 

“I don’t know what I want anymore, Wells.”

 

He nods. “You never have.”

 

Glancing down the alley, Clarke tries to settle herself. When she turns back, he’s a few paces away from her.

 

Placing a hand over her mouth, Clarke crumbles, trying to get herself pulled back together. Except she’s on an alien planet in an alien city with alien feelings and everything is _wrong_.

 

Leaning back onto calves, she slides to the ground, back resting onto the concrete of the building behind her. Wells mirrors her on the opposite wall, never taking his eyes off of her.

 

“I thought you wanted to meet again.” He asks.

 

Clarke bows her head.

 

“Not like this.”

 

“Be careful what you wish for, I guess.” He smirks. His smile falls and his hands drop.

 

Clarke frowns at this sudden change of demeanor. His gentleness is waning, skin growing pale. Her eyes falls to where his hands are on his stomach, holding tight.

 

“Wait,” she breathes, watching as blood drips from beneath his fingers. “Wait, what is happening?”

 

“We never got the timing right did we?” Wells asks, sliding a bit from where he sits.

 

“Wait!” Clarke immediately rushes over to where he’s slumped, placing her hands against his wound without really thinking of what’s going on. “Wells, what’s happening?” Blood seeps and stains her skin, warm and terrifying.

 

Wells falls against the ground and smiles. “At least I’m not dying alone, this time.”

 

His words slice against her and she nearly gags. “Wells!”

 

He falls entirely on the ground, blood dripping out of his mouth. Wells looks exactly how she found him that day, empty and hollow, blood staining the ground.

 

“No,” she breathes. “No, no, no.”

 

Holding her hands against his chest, she watches as he stills. “No!”

 

“Clarke?”

 

Whipping around, Clarke sees Bellamy standing at the mouth of the alley. The anger and frustration he came in with melts when he sees her, crouched on the ground of a dark alleyway. “What’s going on?”

 

“I-I’m—” She turns to face Wells, his eyes dead and haunting, but when she does, she’s greeted to nothing more than an empty ground. No blood. No stains.

 

No Wells.

 

Clarke looks at her fingers, clean.

 

As if he was never there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, this made me super emotional to write, not going to lie.
> 
> I know everything is a bit confusing, but things will reveal themselves in all good time! There was a bit of foreshadowing in this chapter, but know that Wells (as with Jake) isn’t gone for good. This is only Part One of Wells.
> 
> Also, I made myself SUPER sad with the Team Cockroach talk. It actually wasn’t intended, but kinda came out and now I’m really bummed. *Endless tears*
> 
> And so sorry for the delay! Once I finish my Secret Santa, I’ll be able to update more regularly, I promise. It’s just growing out of control!
> 
> So much love and I hope you enjoyed! I will forever be a part of the ‘Wells Deserves Better’ Squad.


	3. Wells: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! 
> 
> I hope you are doing well! Sorry for the slow going – I was working on my Secret Santa, which has since been turned in and awaiting reveal! I will admit, I signed up for January Joy and I have an earlier day, so there might be a bit more of this, but I hope you’ll bear with me!
> 
> One thing that I’ve learned from writing this is the following: 1) I’m still not over a lot of deaths. 2) I will forever protect Wells and be forever bitter. 3) This is making me emotional. I’ve been trying to cut the INTENSE angst with some light comedic relief sometimes, but who am I kidding? I just love writing angst!
> 
> Let’s get into it! Ft. Bellamy ‘Losing it a Little’ Blake and Clarke ‘Losing it a Lot’ Griffin!

CHAPTER THREE

_Wells: Part Two_

 

Her hands are splayed on the ground.

 

Clarke can’t bring herself to look away from where the was a bloodstain there, only a second ago. Her eyes flit to the wall, where the streaks of Wells’ blood painted the concrete like a painting she never wanted to witness. Except, they weren’t there.

 

She could’ve sworn he was there.

 

Her entire body trembles. She feels Bellamy’s presence behind her, to the point where she can even imagine what his expression is. Clarke doesn’t want to turn around.

 

Because turning around means she’ll have to talk with him. There’s nothing she can say to him that will erase whatever he saw. Clarke isn’t even sure how much he saw – how much she’ll have to try to explain while he stands there, knowing she’s lying to him.

 

Wells was right here.

 

It’s the most heartbreaking part of it all. Forget the explanations, forget the conversation she’s dreading behind her. Her heart aches because even though she knows it’s not real, Wells was here for a moment. Her father _was here_ for a moment. They came back to her life and she felt less alone, surrounded by her own ghosts.

 

Clarke never wanted to face them. She never wanted her ghosts to look her in the eyes and remind her what life would be like if she didn’t mess up. If she didn’t fail as a leader. Now that they’re here? It’s a twisted sort of longing, knowing how painful it’ll be when they leave, but welcoming it all the same.

 

“Clarke.”

 

Bellamy finally says something. She isn’t sure how long she’s been facing away from him, trying to pull herself together. Time all seems relative, like an avalanche. Rumbling underneath, pulling seconds into minutes, and then exploding all at once.

 

Scrubbing under her eyes, Clarke finally stands. Her bones ache and her muscles protest and she can’t see the blood on her fingers anymore, but knows it’s there. “Bellamy.”

 

Turning around, she’s surprised he hasn’t moved from the mouth of the alleyway. Clarke steps toward him, but even that gesture hurts. “What is going on?” Bellamy asks carefully. He’s not moving toward her. It strikes Clarke that he may actually be afraid of her – or afraid of what she might do.

 

That hurts more than any words could ever.

 

Opening her mouth to explain, Clarke realizes she has nothing. She doesn’t have a lie, she doesn’t have the truth. It’s all simply _there_ and _haunting_.

 

“Please extend my apologies to Eligius. I’m going to head back to camp, I’m not feeling well.” Clarke says instead of anything informative, quickening her pace. She hopes that he’s shocked enough that he’ll let her simply stalk past him.

 

Of course it isn’t the case.

 

Before she can move past, Bellamy grabs her forearm and pulls her close to him. They’re too close for what they are. Now that there is no longer the threat of sides or war or death, Clarke knows she can’t have Bellamy with her.

 

It strikes her that she’s never been around him without a threat of war. The realization almost makes her crumble then and there.

 

She isn’t sure how to be with Bellamy when their lives are on the line. Perhaps that’s all they are to each other – partners in war, but never in life. She watches him and aches for something more, but knows she can’t have it. It’s not hers to have.

 

“Clarke,” Bellamy asks, bending down so their faces are closer. “Please tell me. What is going on?”

 

She opens her mouth – for what response, she’s trying to figure out. It feels wrong being this close, it feels wrong that he’s here when they won’t die, it feels _wrong_ that—

 

Clarke snaps her mouth shut.

 

A few yards away, Wells stands in the middle of the street.

 

There’s a thin sheen of sweat against his skin and he’s smiling again, his eyes as warm as they’ve ever been. He lifts a hand and waves at her, as if he hadn’t just bleed out in the alley. There’s something other worldly about the way the sun is striking his skin. It shimmers to the point where it looks like there’s a faint glow.

 

“Clarke?”

 

Yanking her arm out of his grasp, Clarke stalks past him, trying to avoid any further interaction with tears in her eyes. “I’m going back.” She announces. “Please apologize to them. I’ll—”

 

“Clarke, wait up!” Bellamy exclaims, jogging to catch up with her.

 

She hates how familiar it is for him to fall in line with her, how her body even shifts to allow his more room, like they’ve done so many times in the past. “Can you stop leaving before we finish our conversation?”

 

“Go back to the discussions, Bellamy. They’ll worry if you don’t show up.”

 

“Like they won’t worry if you don’t come back? Pass.” Bellamy snaps, the annoyance very prevalent in his voice. It reminds Clarke of the Bellamy that first landed on earth – unable to contain his every thought and emotion. He was so easy to read then, but now? It’s as if he changed the language and Clarke’s desperately trying to play catch up.

 

“I’m fine getting back—”

 

“Did you actually forget the conversation we had this morning or are you being intentionally obstinate?” Bellamy states. “Because you can’t just go and do whatever the hell you want.”

 

“Funny, I thought that was your whole thing.” Clarke grumbles back.

 

Bellamy fixes her with an unimpressed look. “Clarke, we’ve come too far to look to the past now—”

 

“Have we?” Clarke exclaims. “When we start ignoring the past, we could make the same mistakes. You heard Monty – we have to be the good guys this time, which means we need to avoid doing what made us the bad guys, last time.”

 

“It’s funny,” Wells is suddenly next to her and she nearly leaps in the air when he walks on the other side. “I really hated this guy. I also thought he was an idiot. But he doesn’t seem so bad.”

 

“Is this what this is all about, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, his tone turning soft. “About Monty and Harper?”

 

Placing her hands on her forehead, Clarke says, “You’ve missed a lot.”

 

“I’ll say.” Wells snorts.

 

“Clarke, I know that we were apart for a long time—”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Clarke interjects.

 

“You know, I thought that he was going to kill us all when we first were on the ground.” Wells continues. “Do you remember how he wanted everyone on the Ark to think we’re dead? How’d you convince him not to murder everyone?”

 

“He never was going to murder everyone.”

 

“Who isn’t going to murder everyone?” Bellamy asks, aghast. “Do you know something I don’t? I thought we were past the point of keeping secrets.”

 

“I am _way_ behind.”

 

“Stop it!” Clarke exclaims.

 

Both Bellamy and Wells recoil. Clarke freezes, not sure of how to move forward. Everything grows quiet and Clarke takes a breath. “Sorry,” she mumbles to Bellamy, shooting a withering stare in Wells’ direction. He puts his hands up, but his smile never falters. “I-I just mean, that I don’t think there’s anything going on. I’m sorry I snapped, I’m just tired and I have a lot on my mind.”

 

“ _What_ do you have on your mind, Clarke?” Bellamy implores. “What is it you’re not telling me? We never kept secrets. We have been through a lot, and I know there’s been some unresolved tension between us, but I want to move past it. I _need_ to move past it.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure what to say to that.

 

“He was always good at getting women to notice him.” Wells offers from the side.

 

Though, Wells melts away to be nothing more than a haze. Clarke thinks of their time apart, all two thousand, one hundred, and ninety-nine days of it. Two thousand, one hundred, and ninety-nine days of clinging to him like a life line.

 

What happens when your life line doesn’t know you’re a life line?

 

“Bellamy, everything is _fine._ ” Clarke insists, because if she’s lying, she may as well commit all the way. “I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep and I’m just… it’s fine. I’d like to return to camp and you have to apologize to everyone for me so I don’t accidentally offend someone. Alright?”

 

Bellamy glowers. “No—”

 

“Listen, we’ll talk when we get back to camp, but you and I both know this is too important to blow. Please, just do this for me?”

 

Bellamy doesn’t respond right away. She knows that he’ll go back, though. Because he _has_ been using his head, instead of following what his emotions tell him to do right away. It doesn’t mean that this conversation is over. She knows she’s going to have to explain something soon, but at least she’ll have some time to think about it and hopefully Wells won’t be by her side, making everything more difficult.

 

Without another word, Bellamy turns around and makes his way back toward the city square, leaving Clarke alone.

 

Well, not entire alone.

 

“So, things have changed between you two.” Wells states after a few uncomfortable seconds.

 

“Wells, will you please go away?”

 

“I mean, I know you when you’re infatuated with someone. I know when you have a crush on someone. Do you remember when we were thirteen and you had that thing for Brendan? You would flush every time he was near, but you wouldn’t even look at him. But this?” Wells asks, tapping his nose. “This is totally new. I haven’t seen you ever look at anyone like that.”

 

“What is the point of what you’re doing?” Clarke asks, whirling to face him. “I don’t understand and I don’t understand what’s going on! You shouldn’t be here! B-But I can hear you! I can see you!” Clarke reaches out, her fingers curling around the collar of his jacket. “I can touch you and I shouldn’t be able to do any of these things!”

 

“Why not?” Wells asks.

 

“Why are you here? Why is my dad here? Are you here to drive me crazy? Are you here to blame me?”

 

“Clarke, I think you do that enough for yourself.” Wells says quietly. “I have an honest question for you.”

 

Clarke’s lower lip trembles. “What.”

 

“Why do you carry my death with you so much?”

 

“You were my best friend—”

 

“I know that. But you didn’t kill me. Actually, there was literally nothing you could do. You didn’t know what happened to Charlotte. You didn’t know what Bellamy told her. You didn’t know how she would interpret it. No one knew. By the time I even realized what was happening, it was too late.” Wells reaches out and lifts under her chin. “So why do you carry the blame?”

 

“I was supposed to be there for you.” Clarke states, trying to keep herself for crying. “I was your best friend and I spent our entire time on the Ground pretending you didn’t exist. I was supposed to be there and I wasn’t.”

 

“I was supposed to be there for _you._ ” Wells insists, moving a few steps forward. Clarke recoils, but he doesn’t stop. “It was supposed to be you and I on the Ground, remember? We always used to talk about it.”

 

“I remember,” Clarke breathes, blinking away a few tears. “I always remember.”

 

“We were going to explore the forests, see our first waterfalls. We were going to learn everything there was about the new flora and fauna. You were going to draw and document and I was going to experiment on it. We were going to ignore the politics our parents were in and learn everything there was to know.”

 

“We were going to learn how to swim.” Clarke remembers. “We were going to climb mountains.”

 

“Yet you carry me like a weight.” Wells says, but not accusingly. If anything, his voice is sad, filled with desperation and loss. “You can never swim with weights tied to your feet, Clarke.”

 

“I was supposed to be there for you.” Clarke breathes, barely even taking him in anymore.

 

“You tell yourself you were supposed to be there for them,” Wells says, his voice tinny and distant. “But why don’t you ever ask whether they were supposed to be there for you?”

 

“I was supposed to be there,” Clarke repeats.

 

At one point, Wells reaches out, placing a gentle had on the back of her head. He pulls her closer to him and she simply falls into it, grounding her to the planet.

 

The planet melts away, and for a moment, she has her best friend back.

 

For a moment, she pretends it’s real.

 

***

 

By the time the group gets back from the city, Clarke’s sitting by the fire with a knife, sculpting a piece of wood to be the handle of an axe she’s making to make the house-building go a little quicker. When she returned by herself, she saw the panic in a few people’s eyes, so she muttered something about getting sick and that everything was fine. People tended to leave her alone once she said the word ‘sick,’ which she appreciates.

 

Clarke isn’t sure when Wells left. They strode through the forest side-by-side like the once always planned to do when they were kids. It was comforting and heartbreaking all at once.

 

Then he was gone.

 

She couldn’t pinpoint the second. But she felt a little colder, the world was a little dimmer. It was gradual, so she didn’t realize it was happening.

 

Perhaps that’s how life worked.

 

It changes you, but it’s not all at once. You’re lead to believe that you will notice when the core of who you are is altered. Except that’s never how it goes. Pieces of you are slowly chipped away until the person you once were is no longer recognizable. You would never know how to get back to the person you were because they are a stranger.

 

And you are what that person was afraid you’d become.

 

“Hey,” someone jogs over to where Clarke’s sitting. Their ponytail waves as they jog, legs stiff, but spritely. When Raven reaches where Clarke is, she crosses her arms. “So you look like shit.”

 

Clarke shaves off another piece of the wood she’s carving, trying not to react. “So I’ve been told.”

 

“Listen, I didn’t come over here to argue with you.” Raven sighs, her voice tense. The two of them haven’t been on the best of terms since earth, a fact that makes Clarke’s chest ache every time she thinks of it. Right now, she doesn’t have the energy to argue either, but there’s something that weighs her even further down, looking at the woman. “I just wanted to let you know that Bellamy is really upset and I think you should talk to him. I know you and I haven’t seen eye to eye on a lot of things recently, but there was a time when we were friends.”

 

_There was a time._

 

There was a time for a lot of things. Clarke slides the knife so hard, it slips out of her control and nicks the thumb she’s using to steady the piece of wood with. Cursing under her breath, Clarke sets the knife down and wraps her fingers around her thumb. “So we’re not anymore?” Clarke asks, unable to look Raven in the eye.

 

“What do you want me to say, Clarke?”

 

Clarke stares at the fire. There’s so many things she wants people to say. Even more that _she_ wants to say. But sometimes words fail and there’s nothing left to be said. Closing her eyes, she says, “I don’t know anymore.”

 

“It’s not like Clarke Griffin, not to know things.”

 

“We all change, don’t we?” Clarke says quietly. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll speak with him later.”

 

“You may actually get the opportunity sooner than you’d like.”

 

“What—”

 

She knows before she sees him. Bellamy stalks over to where she’s sitting by the fire, nodding to Raven as he passes. Taking her cue, Raven turns and leaves, Bellamy seating himself next to Clarke by the fire. Without so much as a greeting, he says, “Doesn’t look like you slept at all.”

 

Clarke doesn’t face him. “It was the middle of the day.”

 

Bellamy runs his hands down his face. “Clarke, can we just stop whatever this is for a second?” Bellamy asks. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I wanted to say a few things. I think you and I are off our rhythm. Six years is a long time and as much as it pains me to say it, I don’t think we know each other very well anymore. And I—” He hesitates, licking his lips. “I _hate_ that. I mean, whatever was happening, even when we weren’t even agreeing, I knew who you were. And I knew what was going on with you. Now I don’t know and I don’t know what to do.”

 

She isn’t sure how to respond to that, the words catching in her throat.

 

“While I want you to talk to me, I understand that we’re strangers these days. I don’t know what you went through on earth and you don’t know what I went through in the Ark. So I was hoping we could start over.” Bellamy gives her a tentative smile. “I mean, you said it yourself. We’ve been through a lot together, you and I. I think we owe it to ourselves to try and figure it out.”

 

There are a lot of things that happened in the valley that she doesn’t want to share with Bellamy. A lot of things that happened that she doesn’t want to share with anyone. She was broken and small. Something she tried to hide from the world.

 

But…

 

If you can’t be small around some people, you risk being small to everyone.

 

“Okay,” she says hesitantly. If anything, it’ll take the pressure off of the weirdness revolving around her. “What sort of stuff do you want to know?”

 

Bellamy sighs with relief, a small smile playing on his lips. “Honestly, I still am curious how you managed to survive for six years, but that seems like too big of a question. So instead, I’m going to ask you something that I’ve always wanted to know. W-What…” He has to clear his throat. “What happened that day?”

 

Clarke doesn’t need him to tell her what day he’s referring to.

 

“Why didn’t you make it back in time?”

 

It’s strange, thinking that he doesn’t know after all these years. Except, when she realized he wasn’t getting her radio messages, she should know he doesn’t know anything. Clearing her throat, she resists the urge to brush the question off. “It had to be manually aligned.” She says quietly, picking up the knife at her side again. It’s nice to have something to do with her hands.

 

Clarke tells him the story as clinically as she can, but she can feel the fire against her cheeks again. She can feel the earth falling apart underneath her feet, her boots steadying on the top rungs of the tower as she tried to save her friends. Sometimes, Clarke can see the rocket go off before her eyes and she’s by herself all over again.

 

To Bellamy’s credit, he doesn’t interrupt her. But when she mentions seeing the rocket launch as she’s climbing, his hand shoots out and he grips her, as if he’s willing her to be with him. She pauses her whittling and lets him hold her. It isn’t until she’s finished does he let go.

 

“You were outside?” He asks, voice dry.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Bellamy bows his head. Clarke can sense the guilt rolling off him, so she does something she would never do in any other circumstance. Scooting closer to him so their thighs touch, Clarke places an arm around his shoulders. He’s so warm next to her. “It’s what needed to be done.” She says, putting every ounce of importance in her voice. “I was so proud of you.”

 

His head whips in her direction. He’s so close, their noses mere inches apart. Clarke isn’t sure the last time she’s been this close to him, but he’s under her hands and something stitches itself back together now that he is. She resists every urge within her to pull away.

 

He doesn’t either.

 

“It was the worst day of my life.” He says, his voice rough.

 

Shaking her head, Clarke smiles at him. “It shouldn’t be.”

 

They sit there for a little while. It’d been such a long time since Clarke felt undeniably close with Bellamy and the selfish part of her never wants it to end. It was everything she radioed during her time in the valley under her fingertips.

 

“You know,” Clarke says after a bit. “What I want to know is nothing to do with the time apart.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I was thinking about it and we never really just… learned about each other. For someone I trust with my life, I don’t know a ton about you.”

 

Bellamy chuckles. “You know all the important stuff. Actually, I’m curious. What are the things you know about me? I’ll tell you if they’re true.”

 

Clarke takes her arm away and he leans in closer, as if immediately missing the contact. “Well,” she begins, thinking about it. “You’re an early riser.”

 

Bellamy fixes her an unimpressed look. “Yeah, _now_ you admit it.”

 

With a laugh, she continues, “I know that you wanted to be a guard on the Ark. And that your mother was a seamstress. I know that you are honorable and one of the few people genuinely learns from mistakes and always manages to be a better person each day.” Clarke thinks about that, eyes wide. “Like, how do you even _do_ that?” She whispers. Bellamy doesn’t move, as if he’s afraid of breaking whatever moment they’re having. “I know that you go off on walks when you’re upset, but you actually want someone to come with you. Not to talk or anything. Just to be there. I know that the one person you would do anything for is Octavia, even after all this time.”

 

Bellamy finally moves. His eyes are sharp and there’s something real and present behind them. She wishes she knew what it meant, but she doesn’t. She thinks of the poison he gave her for the rest of Spacekru and then pats his hand. “And I know that you want us to all be our best selves, and you will do whatever you can to lead us that way. And I know that you’re one of my favorite people, six years apart and all.”

 

Bellamy doesn’t respond for a moment. For a moment he leans so close, that she thinks that he might close the gap. But there’s the voice in the back of her mind that tells her it won’t happen.

 

It doesn’t.

 

Instead, Bellamy clears his throat. “See, you know me.” He manages, voice thick. “I don’t know what else you really need to know.”

 

“Favorite color.”

 

“Blue.” He says it without so much of a hesitation, that she can’t help but laugh. “But a light blue. Like the sky after it’s rained. The blue that you forget and then it almost knocks you back when you see it again.”

 

“I know the one.” Clarke says. “Did you actually want to be a guard, or was it just what you wanted on the Ark? If you could do anything, what would it be?”

 

“Anything?” Bellamy makes a face. “Man, I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about that before.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Not about those kinds of things.” Bellamy says. “I mainly thought about finding a way for everyone to be together, after it all.”

 

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Clarke says.

 

“We’re all together now, Clarke.”

 

Clarke’s eyes fall to the ground. “Not everyone.”

 

Bellamy observes her. Clarke isn’t sure what he sees and she isn’t sure if she truly wants to know. She used to be so good at masking her feelings, but these days they’re pouring out of her. Like once the dam broke, she couldn’t fix it anymore.

 

“My turn.” Bellamy states, a resolve in his voice that Clarke only has heard before he’s trying to convince people of something. “You’re Clarke Griffin. You’re from the Alpha station, but weirdly one of the most sacrificing people I know. I know that you love to draw and paint, and it’s how you kept sane when you were sentenced to isolation on the Ark. I know that despite what you say, you feel more than anyone I’ve ever met. And that you think that if you can save all of us, your work will be done. I know that you had to save everyone’s life on the Ground, but you wish that you could’ve simply explored.”

 

Clarke tries to play it off. “So you may know me a little.”

 

“Here’s what you don’t know about yourself.” Bellamy says, not acknowledging her comment. “What you don’t know is we all view you as family. And whenever you leave because you think it’s what’s best for everyone else, it’s not true. You think that saving us from yourself is what we want, but we never wanted you to be on your own. All we want is _you_ , whatever that means.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure what to say to that. She tries to come up with something, but can’t.

 

“I’m just better alone.” She says softly, a bout of honesty she only saves for her darkest moments. “I’m good with it.”

 

“It’s what you know,” Bellamy answers. “It doesn’t mean it’s better.”

 

He leans forward. Clarke feels herself on fire, but for the fire time, it’s one that she embraces.

 

_Crash._

 

Both flinch and turn around, people sprinting toward the noise. They jump from where they’re sitting to the huddled group of people, Clarke pushing her way through the throng.

 

Surrounded by broken beams and collapsed house frames is one of the Eligius crew members, a large piece of wood protruding from his abdomen. Blood seeps down his shirt and Clarke whips around, eyes wild. “Where’s my mom or Jackson?”

 

Bellamy manages to shove his way to the front as well, pausing at the scene. “At Eligius. They wanted to train medically, remember?”

 

Clarke’s shaking. Memories of storms and panic rush to her.

 

“Man, déjà vu, right?”

 

Clarke shuts her eyes. The moment the voice speaks, Clarke wants to weep. It was a brief moment.

 

Lifting her head from the man on the ground, a figure waves. “Then I guess we’re stuck with me.” Clarke states, not able to take her eyes off the figure in the trees. “Someone help me get him to the medical bay on the ship.”

 

“I didn’t get this view last time.” The figure states, stepping out of shadows. “Time to see the powerful Clarke Griffin work.”

 

Clarke moves with everyone to bring them to the medical bay, Jasper following, goggles and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, this fic is kinda turning into 2 things: 1) Clarke coming to terms with all the death over the years and how I believe she takes it on herself (since she’s always being isolated) and 2) Clarke and Bellamy relearning who each other are, but also discovering that they’re the same at heart.
> 
> Writing Wells / Bellamy / Clarke made me wish for the MILLIONTH TIME that Wells was still alive, but I was legitimately confusing myself going, ‘what can Clarke say that would sound like she was answering both?’ And there’s a bit of foreshadowing here of where the breaking point will be.
> 
> Also, there were 2 very important other foreshadow moments. 1 with her conversation with Wells and 1 with the final reveal. Take that as you will.
> 
> Next up: Jasper! I find Jasper and Clarke’s relationship so fascinating because they were close, but S2 broke them. I never expected the two ever to be more than what they were by the end. It makes me sad because we all have friendships like that. Not as extreme of an ending, but where something happens and it changes everything too much for you to cope with it. And I’m SO EXCITED to delve into it next chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! So much love!


	4. Jasper Jordan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves!
> 
> So sorry for the wait, I ended up getting really busy and essentially had no time to write! And I’m currently working on my January Joy in tandem here, so I’m basically trying to do what I did with BSS – two stories at once!
> 
> This chapter I was actually really nervous for because I think the Jasper / Clarke relationship is so interesting. Because Jasper went from calling Clarke his savior to blaming her for everything. So I’ve been a little worried.
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say since this is Jasper’s chapter, and what happened with his character, there will be some discussion of suicide, so I wanted to just state that the topic will come up. Also, it’s a little gruesome at the end…
> 
> But here we go! Take comfort in the fact that my outside AUs (like the Bellarke Secret Santa and January Joy) are way less angsty than what you’re about to read… Much love!

CHAPTER FOUR

_Jasper Jordan_

 

By the time they bring the man into the Eligius ship med bay, Clarke’s covered in blood.

 

She has to remind herself that it’s the good kind of blood. The kind that isn’t spilt from her own hand, but the kind can be stopped with it. Except she can’t help but stare at it for a while, waiting for her heart to stop pounding as people yell around her.

 

They shouldn’t be yelling. _She’s_ the one who should be freaking out, _she’s_ the one who is holding this man’s life in her hands.

 

“I would’ve thought you’d be used to it by now.”

 

Clarke sucks in a breath when Jasper speaks. It’s light-hearted and buoyant, like he used to be. She struggles to see him with the goggles she held in her hands at the end of the world, cracks lining the glass. His hair is askew like it once was and he’s so much younger than she remembers at the end of the world.

 

It was tragic, what the Ground did to Jasper.

 

It took someone too gentle, too soft, and crushed him.

 

Clarke tries not to outwardly show any response to Jasper’s words, but knows she fails when a few people start to stare. Then she realizes she’s standing in front of the man, hands held up at the ready, trembling. It’s been a while since she’s been here. Sure, she took care of herself and Madi, but it’s been so long since she’s been alone with someone on the brink of death. Even Murphy and Kane had her mother and Jackson to tend to them.

 

She wants to yell that she isn’t ready for this again – she isn’t trained for this – when a voice says, “Clarke, what do you need?”

 

The only thing that Clarke can hear in her mind is _“my mom.”_

 

Clarke clears her throat, lifts her hand. “Scalpel. Go see if there are any pain killers in the pantry, as well as disinfectant wipes. I know there were a few things left before we took off.”

 

“Yes, there wasn’t a lot of surgery on board.” Diyoza’s voice cuts through all the chaos reigning in her head, and frankly, Clarke is a little relieved.

 

When she hovers the scalpel over the man’s chest, Bellamy leans in, whispering only so she can hear, “Are you alright to do this?”

 

She can’t bare to look at him.

 

“You didn’t sleep last night. Are you okay?”

 

“What other choice do we have?” Clarke asks, bringing the tip of the blade to touch his skin. “If I don’t do it, this man dies.”

 

“Yes, the all-powerful Clarke Griffin to the rescue!” Jasper exclaims putting his hands up in the air. “Once again, solely deciding who lives and who dies. Didn’t take you long on this new planet to assume that responsibility, did it?”

 

The lightness is gone from his voice. There’s something else there now, something brewing behind his words. It’s pained and hard, difficult to hear. That’s the Jasper Clarke remembers. The one swallowed by the world. Clarke had her fair share of vitriol thrown in her direction, but Jasper’s always stung the most.

 

Pressing hard down on the man’s skin, Clarke makes the first incision.

 

***

 

Time melts away. She isn’t sure how long she stood over him, her scalpel in hand. Then clamps. Then stitching. It was tedious work, but Jasper doesn’t say much more and everyone is kind enough to be quiet.

 

When it's all said and done, Clarke stands above the man, the instruments quaking in her hands. She's lost all sense of time, but the sun has risen again. Foreign noises of wildlife of the planet sound faintly outside as Clarke doesn't move. She's not alone in the room, but there's no one around her. A few people have fallen asleep as hours melted away, propped up against the wall and draped over chairs that others brought in.

 

The man's name on the slab before her is Damien, she found out. Damien was charged with drug possession on earth, which one of the other prisoners explained he sold in order to provide food for his family. Clarke assumes they told her this to make sure she did everything she could, but she didn't want to hear about the family he lost when he was chosen for the Eligius trip. She couldn't be hearing about his daughter as the instruments were clasped in her hands. They said his name over and over again -  _Damien, Damien, Damien_  - and all it became was another person she might not be able to be saved.

 

"Looks like you're done."

 

Clarke does her best not to react to Jasper as he approaches her side. He leans over the man's body, his floppy hair poking out from behind his goggles as he leans forward. He places his face far closer to the stitching than she would ever allow anyone that isn't a medical professional, even putting his hand out to poke it. Clarke doesn't try to stop him. She wants to see what will happen - to rationalize something in her brain that will cause all of this to make sense.

 

Jasper stops his hand before he gets close enough to do anything.

 

"Clarke?"

 

Bellamy moves to her other side, where her hands are still out before her and trembling. Clarke is trying to find anything that she did wrong - anything that will cause her to lose this person with the daughter with the floppy pigtails who was lost at the first end of the world. "Everything alright?" he asks tentatively, reaching up so his hands are close. To take away the instruments, to grab her wrist, she isn't sure.

 

"Uh," she starts, hands covered in blood and staring at the stitches. "I think I'm done."

 

"You think?"

 

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like the Clarke Griffin I remember." Jasper states. "You were always so cavalier with lives before, now's not the time to start second-guessing yourself."

 

Clarke blinks a few times, her eyes stinging. It's not the time to fall apart, it's not the time to listen to Jasper who haunts her dreams. 

 

As gently as possible, Bellamy reaches out to where the clamp is in her hands and pries it from her fingers. She only resists for a second, unable to tear her eyes away from the man. When she does let go, he takes the other one and sets it down. "How is he?" He asks.

 

"I think he should be fine."

 

Bellamy frowns at this again, but doesn't ask a follow up.

 

"Again with the thinking," Jasper comments. "When did you start hesitating over who lives and who dies?"

 

"That is not fair!" She shouts, unable to stop herself.

 

"Unfair?" Bellamy asks, stricken. "Clarke, what is going on?"

 

Clarke turns to Jasper at her right and he merely stares back. It’s odd, seeing him with his goggles on. It was a time so long ago where his eyes shined bright. They’re not cracked, like the ones she found after Praimfaya. But new, as the day she met him.

 

“You and I have some stuff to work out.” Jasper says at her side. A small smile plays on his lips and she can’t remember the last time he looked so free.

 

“Clarke,” Bellamy places a hand on her shoulder and she doesn’t even flinch. Nor does she look at him. “I think you need to get some sleep. You’ve been awake far too long.”

 

There’s a part of her that knows this to be true. But Jasper is looking at her like the way he used to before the end. The way that made her feel stripped and bare and empty. Scraped, like the inside of a pumpkin with nothing inside, hollow. _Scrape, scrape, scrape._

 

Clarke lowers her hands. There have been so many under her hands before. Blood under her fingernails and stained on her soul. “Do you think you can sleep, Clarke?” Jasper asks, smirking.

 

Clarke whirls around, facing those who have since woken up all around her. She doesn’t spare Bellamy a second look as she makes her way out of the medical bay, only pausing to shake the shoulder of an Eligius member and whisper that everything will be alright.

 

The world feels like it’s moving in slow motion as she moves throughout the ship.

 

“Not much has changed,” Jasper says, bounding aside her. “The world is still ending, you are making decisions that affect everyone.”

 

“The world isn’t ending.” Clarke says quietly as she passes people.

 

“Oh, give it time. Humans will find a way to destroy it.” Jasper responds, sliding alongside her.

 

“Clarke!”

 

Clarke can hear Bellamy’s voice behind her but she doesn’t stop. She _can’t stop_ , all she can do it move toward.

 

“Clarke, wait up!”

 

She doesn’t want to. She wants to be outside where she can feel the air on her skin.

 

When she reaches the open air, Clarke breathes. She ignores the rushing of steps behind her. The stars twinkle and the world moves on in that annoying way it does when she wishes it would stop.

 

“Don’t look now, but Bellamy’s running toward you and he looks worried.” Murphy states.

 

“I know.”

 

“Also you look like crap.”

 

“I also know that.”

 

“You should probably sleep.”

 

“Listen, if you keep saying things I already know, I’m going to let you finish this conversation yourself.”

 

“Sheesh, someone’s a little touchy. It’s almost as if you haven’t slept in two days and you had to save a man’s life by yourself again.”

 

Murphy nudges her side with his elbow, but she barely registers it. It’s not untrue – she does need to sleep. But Jasper is a few yards ahead and a part of her wants to know what he wants. Her father sat with her, Wells walked with her.

 

If she doesn’t have her ghosts, then who does she have?

 

“Clarke, let’s go.” Bellamy states, stepping beside her and gently grabbing her arm. She knows that he’s being careful because he doesn’t want to scare her, but she doesn’t move.

 

“I think I’d like to sleep outside tonight.” She says softly. It’s not untrue, catching Jasper’s eye. “I miss doing that sometimes.”

 

“Then I’ll join you.” Bellamy states.

 

“That’s not necessary.”

 

“For you, maybe.” He grumbles.

 

Clarke can’t come up with an excuse that doesn’t sound completely deranged, so she allows herself to be dragged by Bellamy over to where there’s some tree cover despite the rising sun. “It’s going to be too bright to sleep,” Clarke says in one last effort to get him to leave her alone, but he’s undeterred.

 

“I can sleep anywhere, at any time.” Bellamy says. “And I didn’t sleep last night either, so I’m pretty beat.”

 

“You didn’t have to stay awake.” Clarke scoffs. “The only person who needed to be awake was me.”

 

“I was staying awake for you. In case you needed anything.”

 

He says it so matter of factly, Clarke isn’t sure how to respond. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Clarke instead chooses to sit down on the ground by a particularly large tree, leaning up against it. He follows her under the long branches, ducking under. The foliage on the planet is strange, but this tree is one that Clarke likes to hide under sometimes. The branches are thick enough to almost entirely block out the sun, but there are little rays of light that peak through.

 

Clarke finds herself tensing a bit when Bellamy sits down next to her, close enough so that their shoulders touch. “What are you doing?” She asks, unable to stop herself.

 

“Going to sleep.”

 

“Why are you doing it here?”

 

“Because I want to.”

 

It’s pieces of the Bellamy she used to know. Direct and thoughtful, never hesitating to say how he felt. It felt selfish to keep that part of him, the part she loves so much.

 

Though, Clarke knows Jasper’s still outside. She can feel it.

 

Without thinking, she slumps over on his shoulder, propping herself up. “How can you be here?” Clarke asks.

 

He doesn’t respond right away. Clarke isn’t sure if he knows what she’s really asking, but she’s asking all the same. He has an out, if he wants to.

 

“We aren’t like that anymore.”

 

Clarke tenses next to him, grateful they aren’t facing each other. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Things change.” He mutters. “As much as we hope they don’t, things change.”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke says to herself. “They always do.”

 

“Will you tell me what’s going on with you?” Bellamy asks. “I don’t want to pry or push, but I’m getting worried, Clarke. Lately you haven’t been acting…”

 

“Sane?”

 

“I was going to say like yourself, but we can just move forward.” Bellamy chuckles. “I’m really worried about you. And I can feel you pulling away, but I want to say again, you’re not by yourself anymore. Please, just… _please_.”

 

Clarke can’t respond. There’s nothing she could say that would quell Bellamy’s concern or curiosity. Instead, she leans her head on his shoulder and says tiredly, “Tell me something good.”

 

If he’s frustrated that she’s dodging her question, he doesn’t say anything. “Do you know the story of Eros and Psyche?” He asks gently.

 

Shaking her head, Clarke scoots a bit closer. He has a soothing voice, Bellamy. She understands why Octavia loved to hear her brother tell stories. It’s calming and warm, everything the world isn’t.

 

“Psyche was one of the most beautiful women in the world, so beautiful that even Aphrodite felt jealousy. So she commanded that her son Eros – a god who made people fall in love – make Psyche fall in love with the most vile, disgusting creature imaginable as punishment. He fully intended on fulfilling her request, but when he laid eyes on her, everything changed.”

 

His voice is gentle enough so that she finds herself drifting off.

 

He continues to tell her about Psyche and Eros, falling in love with the following condition: she cannot look upon him. When those of her family convinced her that he was nothing more than the monster everyone feared, Psyche chose to look upon him while he was sleeping, surprised to see a beautiful man before her. He woke up, heartbroken over her decision, flees.

 

“Love cannot live without trust,” Bellamy states, even his own voice growing slow and sleepy. “He tells her, heartbroken.”

 

“It’s so sad,” Clarke states, unable to stop herself. “They were both so lonely in the world and found each other. They didn’t have to be alone anymore.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Bellamy says. “I’m not finished yet.”

 

Except Clarke never hears the end. Somewhere, as he continues on at Psyche’s pain, she drifts off, sleep taking her.

 

Her dreams are filled with two lovers, constantly pulled apart when they could make themselves less lonely in the world.

 

When she wakes, Bellamy’s a solid presence beside her. His chest rises and falls steadily, propped up against the tree in a way that seems familiar and uncomfortable.

 

“Are you finished?”

 

Clarke looks up to see Jasper standing above him, but the jovial nature of his smile is gone. He’s no longer wearing his goggles and his hair is chopped short. It’s how she remembered Jasper, from his wiry frame to his hardened eyes.

 

Hoisting herself up from the tree, Clarke makes sure not to rustle Bellamy too much. He makes a noise, but doesn’t awaken as she does so. “I suppose I am.”

 

“Must’ve been nice to pretend for a little while.” Jasper states, moving out from underneath the tree.

 

It was.

 

She emerges and it’s nightfall once again. The camp is quiet and people are mulling about. No one seems to care or notice that she’s awake, so she follows Jasper away.

 

They walk in silence.

 

“I keep on expecting you to ask me what I’m doing here, but I forgot that you never were one for small talk.” Jasper says dryly as they make their way further into the woods. “You only said what you needed to, to get things done.”

 

“Jasper,” Clarke states, her words shaking. “What do you want?”

 

“What do any of us want, Clarke? We want to feel like we’ve made an impact on the world. Changed it for the better. Except our world isn’t survivable anymore. It’s like I told Monty – humans are the problem. You spent so much time trying to save the human race and never stopped to ask if they are worth saving? We are not! After all the horrible things humans did, after all the horrible things _you_ did—”

 

“I couldn’t _save_ her, Jasper!”

 

Clarke screams it and it feels like it echoes in the area. It plays over and over and Jasper stops yelling.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

The words are dark. Venomous. Deeply rooted in something vicious that she never knew he had in her.

 

“I couldn’t save her.” Clarke repeats but it comes out as something of a sob. “I-I begged them to let us go. I _begged_ them to stand down and they _wouldn’t_.”

 

“I was in the process of saving everyone!”

 

“No you weren’t!”

 

When she shouts it, he recoils.

 

When she starts again, it’s through ragged breaths. “You _weren’t_. Their army was coming to kill all of you. They were drilling and harvesting everyone to death. They were coming to incapacitate you. I begged them to let us go. To let us walk out of Mt. Weather. And they wouldn’t.”

 

“You didn’t try hard enough.”

 

“I did, Jasper—”

 

“You didn’t!” Jasper shouts and his own eyes are filling with tears. “You did everything you could to save me when we first landed! Even when Bellamy was threatening to kill me, Murphy was trying to kill me. When I had a spear in my stomach and we had next to no supplies, you still did everything you could to make sure that I stayed alive. You never gave up, despite everything. And in Mt. Weather, you simply gave up! You took the easy way out!”

 

“ _Easy way?”_ Clarke repeats. “Easy way? You think that was the easy way? You don’t think that I knew the magnitude of what I was doing? The amount of death I was going to cause? The hate it was going to make people feel for me? The allies I was killing, the innocents I was killing? You think that it was the _easy way?_ It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life!”

 

“Bullshit!” Jasper shouts. “That is total bullshit! It wasn’t your call to make! You don’t get to always choose who lives and who dies! You’re not God, Clarke! That isn’t something for you to decide!”

 

“You think that I like making those decisions? You think that I like being the one who chooses who lives and who dies? No!” Clarke shrieks. “No! I hate it! I hate that it became my job! It’s not fair!”

 

“Not fair, Clarke, is being one of the people who you chose to save when I wanted to be ones that you chose to kill.” Jasper says, voice low. “You did kill me that day, Clarke. You killed me when you killed Maya.”

 

“Why do you put everyone on me, Jasper. I carry them anyways. Must you shove them further?”

 

Jasper lets out a weak chuckle. “You never were a particularly fun person, Clarke. Always worried. Worried about the end of the world, worried about surviving the Grounders, worried about war. I used to think that even though you weren’t fun, you always had our back. But I think you just had your own. And made us think that you care.”

 

Clarke lets out a sob, unable to stop herself. “Then I failed you.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“If I made you feel like I didn’t love you, Jasper, I failed you.” Clarke repeats. “I loved you so much. I loved you too much. All of you. So much so that I would’ve done anything to keep you alive.”

 

“You did. You did do anything.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I never asked for it.”

 

“What would you have done?” Clarke asks. “If you were me, what would you have done to get everyone out?”

 

“We were fighting, Clarke. We were on our way out.”

 

“I saw, Jasper. I _saw_. I saw how the soldiers were overpowering you all. I _saw_ them drill into Raven, into my Mom. You weren’t on your way out. You were losing. What would you have done? Would you have died in Mt. Weather?”

 

Jasper doesn’t respond right away. He glances away, his eyes shining. “I don’t know.”

 

Clarke doesn’t respond to that.

 

The two stand in the forest clearing that he had taken her to, a few feet a part.

 

It was how they were in life, as well. Close, but far. Enough to see each other, not enough to touch.

 

Worlds apart.

 

“I can’t forgive you.” Jasper states. “Ever.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But,” Jasper says, wincing. “A part of me loves you.”

 

“And the other part hates me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

There’s nothing more to say, really.

 

“What is happening, Jasper?” Clarke asks, unable to stop herself. “Why are you all here? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

 

“You said it yourself, Clarke.” Jasper states. “You carry the weight of the dead on your shoulders. Maybe that’s the cost of being the Commander of Death. Maybe it’s not that you end lives, it’s that you take them. You take them to yourself and you collapse under the weight of it all. You’re collapsing, Clarke. Now is not the time for another end of the world.”

 

“It wouldn’t matter.” Clarke says, her words cracking. “It wouldn’t matter if I collapsed, Jasper. You said it yourself, humanity does terrible things to each other.”

 

“The part of me that hates you agrees. But the part of me that loves you,” he sighs. “The part of me that loves you is afraid of what will happen if you collapse. Only the Commander of Death can’t walk peacefully in the night. You can’t walk the path you’ve driven people to.”

 

“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here? Why are any of you here?”

 

“Deep down, you know, Clarke.” Jasper returns. “You know why we’re here.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“You do. You have the knowledge, Clarke. Everything is tucked inside your brain. You _know_.”

 

Clarke closes her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t _know._ ”

 

She opens her eyes and is alone.

 

Until she looks down.

 

Surrounding her are endless bodies. Bodies strewn on top of each other, sores all over their skin. Every single set of eyes are open. Hollow. Empty. Dead.

 

“No,” she breathes.

 

Clarke moves to back away, but she stumbles and falls. She expects to hit the cold ground, but instead falls on top of something twisted and bent. She slips and falls her gaze falling on something.

 

Or someone.

 

“No,” she breathes, but it falls short as she’s surrounded by everyone. The bodies piled up.

 

All the weight on her shoulders.

 

“No,” she says louder, trying to escape them all. “No!”

 

_“No!”_

 

Clarke screams.

 

She screams like she’s never screamed before. She can feel them on her skin, she can feel them every time she takes a breath. It’s suffocating and horrifying and filling up every part of her lungs. She wants to scream, but she sees blood and death and people.

 

Then they move.

 

They move and reach out to her, eyes empty and glassy, skin covered in sores. They grab her arms and pin them behind her back. They hold her there, making her see. Making her see the faces of everyone lost. See the faces she ran away from. The faces that caused her to leave her own.

 

“Let me go!” She cries, her voice rising. “Let me—"

 

“—top! Stop, Clarke! Stop fighting me!” A voice says behind her.

 

She can’t.

 

She has to get them off her skin. She has to wash away the death of those around her. They have to let her go. She needs them to let her go.

 

But has she ever let them go?

 

“Stop fighting! Stop fighting me!”

 

It was so sad, Bellamy’s story. A woman who wanted nothing more to be loved. Her own distrust, her own fear ruining her world. Ruining the happiness she could have. The happiness that she craved.

 

Nothing more than a dream.

 

“Clarke, stop!”

 

Snapping her eyes open, Clarke chokes.

 

They’re all gone.

 

There’s a set of arms locked around her chest. She stops thrashing, breath heavy, the sight of the dead still before her eyes.

 

“You’re okay,” they say. “Just breathe with me. You’re okay.”

 

They continue to whisper platitudes to her, but there’s only one thing she can hear.

 

_“You have the knowledge, Clarke. You know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OKAY I AM THE WORST.
> 
> But hear me out: working through the pain of trauma at a slow pace instead of glossing over it? MY JAM. And it was hard because Jasper and Clarke have such a complicated past that I don’t think they ever could’ve really been friends again.
> 
> As for Jasper’s comment, another big hint! Clarke DOES know. But does she?
> 
> Sorry for being vague and twisty – and sorry for the delay! 
> 
> So, as much as I love endless meta, next chapter is when the plot kinda kicks in. Like I said, this is a very character-driven story. Less big bads, more working through shit. 
> 
> Also! Monday is my January Joy! And in order to prevent myself to give you guys a novel-sized fic, I’m going to be giving you the first half, and then I’ll finish the 2nd shortly after (it’s just too long!). It’s going to be an AU, but with a canon twist! Take that as you will! <3
> 
> So much love! And thank you for reading! <3 <3 <3


	5. Finn Collins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! 
> 
> Firstly, I’m really sorry for the delay. I got so busy and I just didn’t have any time to write, unfortunately. Which bummed me out because writing really helps relax me after a stressful week. 
> 
> I hope you are doing well and having a great week! I was thinking about this particular and I’m going to do 4 more chapters! I can’t let myself go down the rabbit hole as much as possible, I mean, you know how I am. :P
> 
> Let’s do this! <3 <3 <3

CHAPTER FIVE

_Finn Collins_

Clarke knows that she needs to stop clawing at the person who holds her. Logically, she knows this. But they’re holding onto her and she can’t escape any of it. The bodies that were piled up around her have long since left and the suns start to rise on the planet. After a while, her body seems to give out. Her hands stop pawing at the arms wrapped around her waist and she deflates.

 

The planet is quiet.

 

All she can hear is her own ragged breathing, Jasper’s words echoing in her ears over and over.

 

“Clarke?” The person behind her asks gently.

 

Clarke looks up and blinks in the sun rays that manage to sneak through the thick branches of trees. The mornings are so pink on this planet, the sky painting colors that she wished she could capture. Gripping the forearms of the person who has her tightly grasped, Clarke bows her head. It doesn’t matter that they’re gone, she feels them on her skin. She sees them before her eyes. She hears them draw their last breaths.

 

The person loosens their grip on Clarke, but doesn’t move. She blinks a few times at the legs that are on her either side, frowning when she realizes she doesn’t recognize the shoes. They don’t look like the Ark’s and they definitely don’t look like the Grounders. In fact, they look like—

 

“Shaw?” Clarke asks, her voice cracking. It hurts, as if she’s been screaming for a while. It occurred to her that maybe she was.

 

“Yeah,” he says, and she feels it on her neck, causing her to shiver. “Clarke, I’m sorry, you were yelling and I realized you’re asleep and I couldn’t figure out how to wake you up.”

 

Clarke blinks. “Asleep?” She asks.

 

If Shaw answers, she doesn’t hear it. Jasper was right there. He was standing a few yards away and he was saying things to her. Oh god, he was saying things to her. Clarke grabs Shaw’s forearms, surprised he’s still there. He doesn’t seem to be moving anytime soon, so she stays with him, allowing his back to be a grounding force against her.

 

They breathe together.

 

It occurs to Clarke that she doesn’t know Shaw too well. She doesn’t know him well at all, but here he is, helping her all the same. “Why are you here?” She asks, her voice rough.

 

Shaw doesn’t answer right away. He holds her there, like he’s afraid she’ll sprint away. Clarke isn’t though. After years of running, she can’t bring herself to do so. She can’t run away from anything anymore, because everything is catching up with her.

 

“I recognize the look in you eye.” He says quietly. Clarke isn’t sure what he means, but she doesn’t have to wait long for the explanation. “I served in a war. I signed up because I thought I had a duty to my country, but I realized that it relied on the blood of the most innocent and easily manipulated to fight wars not worth fighting. It changed people. It… changed me.”

 

Clarke holds him. She thinks of all the wars she fought that could’ve been avoided. Everything could’ve been avoided. But humanity, for all its positives, only knew violence in the wake of difference. She wanted to save them. She wanted to save everyone. All she has to show for it is a mountain of bodies to remind her that she failed.

 

“And I see that in you. You are always hyper vigilant, like you’re ready for the world to end again.”

 

“It ended twice.” Clarke says distantly. “What makes you think it won’t again?”

 

“Spoken like someone who can’t differentiate war and regular life.” Shaw says distantly. “I used to be like that. I used to be afraid to close my eyes. What they don’t tell you when you go to war is you lose who you are along the way. What they don’t tell you is that you can never get that person back.”

 

Clarke grips him.

 

“I used to have a girl. A mom. A bike. I used to watch football and play Ultimate on the weekends. I had a favorite sandwich place. I went to mass.” Shaw says. “I don’t know who that person is anymore.”

 

Clarke aches as he speaks.

 

She used to have a mom _and_ a dad. She used to watch football with her best friend. She used to draw trees instead of the faces of the fallen. She used to be whole.

 

At some point his arms loosen. At another point, he leaves.

 

Clarke doesn’t get up, though. She’s vaguely aware she can’t feel her feet. Clarke tells herself that if she tried to stand, there’d be nothing more than quicksand to engulf her.

 

The ground was nothing more than the dead bodies she once put there.

 

Even on a new planet, she couldn’t bring herself to erase their memories. She thinks of the days after the end of the world that she etched the names of those who died on her gun. Her father, Wells, Jasper…

 

_Him._

 

Clarke sits in the clearing, now free of bodies, a figure pressed against a tree.

 

His hands are tied behind his back and he stares at her, like he’s waiting for something. Clarke had a feeling. She knew this was going to come.

 

The first one.

 

Sure, she killed people. She killed more people than she could count. She mercy-killed, she strategically killed, and she sure as hell ‘back-up-against-a-wall’ killed. But he was her first.

 

He was her first ‘people before individual’ kill.

 

“Princess.” He says softly, a smile teasing on his lips as he stares at her. “I knew we’d meet again.”

 

Clarke sucks in a breath.

 

“Holy shit, _Clarke.”_

 

Before she knows it, there’s a person before her. They hold her face in their hands, tapping her cheeks a few times. “Say my name if you know who I am.”

 

Honestly, it takes a while until she’s able to do as instructed. The person who holds her face slowly comes into view. Murphy appears mildly annoyed, but there’s something very real underneath. She can see past the superficial annoyance and find the very real fear.

 

Maybe she’s officially lost her mind. It was really only a matter of time, bodies stacking up like dominoes before they all. Fell. Down.

 

“Clarke,” Murphy says, tapping her cheeks again. “Clarke, are you alright?”

 

“Of course,” she says, as if on autopilot.

 

It doesn’t sound like words, though. It doesn’t sound like any sort of answer.

 

He doesn’t believe her, and she doesn’t blame him. “Alright, crazy. Let’s get you warmed up.”

 

That’s when she realizes, the planet is very cold for one with two suns. Murphy places his hands under her arms and helps hoist her to her feet, Clarke’s legs all but collapsing underneath her as she does so. It’s strange, not to be fully aware of what’s going on. Clarke always prided herself on being sure – on being the person who knows. And now, it feels as if that’s being stripped away from her and she doesn’t understand the place she’s in.

 

It’s for that reason alone she allows Murphy to lead her through the forest, feeling Shaw’s presence close to her back. Logically, she knows he’s there to catch her if she falls, but she finds it comforting to know that the wildness isn’t the only things she’s turning her back to. “Is Bellamy awake?” She asks, her throat burning.

 

Murphy doesn’t answer right away. She expected a comment, some sort of snarky response about how they fell asleep together, but there is none. It’s odd and chilling at the same time, and more uncomfortable than any silence she ever felt with Murphy. “Yeah,” he finally answers, his hands ghosting her wrist as she stumbles a bit. “We spoke briefly before I followed Shaw. I convinced him that his presence probably wouldn’t help anything.”

 

Clarke ponders this. She supposes that he’s right. What could Bellamy do other than watch as she slowly descends into madness? What could any of them do, really?

 

 _You know the answer_.

 

She isn’t sure why Jasper was so confident, but it’s not something she shares. Instead, all she’s doing is trying to pretend that she didn’t see _him_ before they left the clearing. If she was going to lose her mind, this isn’t the way she would ever choose to do it.

 

“I find you odd without your sarcasm.” Clarke comments, turning to Murphy.

 

Murphy lets out a humorless chuckle. “I find you odd without your wits.”

 

Clarke can’t help but snort. “Me too.”

 

He doesn’t turn to her, but merely stands by her side. “Are you going to even try to explain what’s going on?” He asks. “Or are you going to continue to pretend you’re fine?”

 

“I—” Clarke says, frowning. “I don’t know.”

 

“Because you should know that no one believes you. And that people are starting to get really worried. And not just Bellamy. Everyone else.”

 

She doesn’t answer. Clarke assumed this day would come.

 

Everyone has a legacy that they can leave on this earth. For some, they want to leave behind worlds. For others, they want to leave behind people. For Clarke? Clarke wants the quietest legacy that she’ll never have. She wants to drift off into the night, barely making a ripple in the water. With how tumultuous of a life she’s led, she isn’t sure it’s possible.

 

But it would be her greatest gift.

 

“Because I’m going to be real with you, Clarke.” He continues and there’s an undercurrent of anger in his voice. “You not telling us what’s going on isn’t shielding us or helping anyone. Right now, people are worried because they don’t know what’s going on with you and that’s dangerous. And the last time people didn’t know what you were thinking, it didn’t end well.”

 

Clarke freezes. “What?”

 

The word is cold and accusing. Murphy flinches, a flash of rare contrition wiping across his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

Clarke can’t help it, but her eyes water. She’s too exhausted, she’s too sad, she’s too _everything_.

 

She’s tired of being ‘too.’

 

“Are you implying that I’m going to hurt someone, Murphy?” She asks.

 

“Clarke—”

 

“You don’t think I’m aware of what I’ve done?” She asks, her voice rising.

 

Clarke can’t help it – she’s on the verge of snapping. She can feel Shaw tense up behind her, so much so that she accidentally steps back into his palm where he’s braced it. She recoils, putting distance between herself and the two men. “Clarke, you know that’s not what I meant—” Murphy tries again, placing his hands up like one would a wounded animal.

 

Perhaps that’s all she is to them now. A wounded animal constantly caught in fight or flight mode. Ready to lash out at any time because they’ve been separated for far too long to understand each other anymore.

 

“I am aware of how much blood is on my hands!” Clarke shouts. She can almost see it. She can almost taste it. “You don’t think I don’t see them? You don’t think that they walk with me every day when I wish they would just _leave me alone_?” Clarke whirls around, to where _he_ may be.

 

 _“Leave me alone!”_ She shouts. Any restraint that would cause her remember she’s shouting to nothing in front of Murphy and Shaw, leaves her. _“Do you hear me? Leave me alone!”_

 

Murphy and Shaw are very still. She turns to them, eyes wild and manic, bringing her finger up. “That goes for you too.” Clarke states. “Please. Just leave me alone.”

 

“Clarke—”

 

“I’m better off alone anyways.” She continues. “It’s all I’ve ever had, right? I’ve always been alone.”

 

“You haven’t, you have us—”

 

“Do I?” Clarke asks, tears spilling past her eyes. “When has that _ever_ been true?”

 

Murphy recoils as if she’s struck him. His hands are still up, but they’re clearly frozen there. He closes his mouth, jaw clenching.

 

She doesn’t wait for an answer. Clarke brushes past the two, willing herself to move fast. Perhaps is she walks fast enough, she’ll escape all the questions.

 

Perhaps if she walks fast enough, she’ll escape the ghosts.

 

***

 

It’s not true, though.

 

Clarke finds herself alone on a rock, the water pooling at her feet. She dips her bare toes in, watching the ripples extend to the sea. It’s like every decision she’s ever made. Everything she thought she was making for the good – the good of her people, the good of mankind – it had effects she could never see. They simply traveled until they drifted further into the ocean, to be met with every other bad decision mankind has made.

 

It’s overwhelming, if she thinks about it strongly enough. Placing her chin on her knees, Clarke curls up to make herself as small as possible. She spent her time on earth trying to make herself big, but now she wants nothing more than to make herself small.

 

“Hello there, Princess.”

 

Clarke shuts her eyes.

 

She knew he would show up sooner or later, but she wished it would be the latter. Peering up from where she’s buried her head in her arms, Clarke says, “Hey Spacewalker.”

 

Finn smiles warmly at her, shaking his floppy hair out of his eyes as he hoists himself on the rock next to her. He doesn’t touch her, though. His hand remains a few inches away from her and she’s grateful for that.

 

On his chest is the blood-stained shirt from that night. Clarke doesn’t enjoy seeing it in the sunlight. Sometimes she can feel his weight fall on her, just as it did the moment he took his last breath. She can feel his body press against her chest, so different from every other time they embraced.

 

War took a boy filled with adventure and mischief, and it broke him.

 

Blinking away a few tears, Clarke says, “I suppose there’s no point in asking you why you’re here?”

 

Finn smirks. “You know the answer to that.”

 

“Of why you’re here or that you’ll say no?”

 

“Good to know you’re still as sharp as ever.” He laughs.

 

“Are you going to make me see bodies, like Jasper did?” Clarke asks. When Finn lifts an eyebrow, she finishes, “I need to know if I need to prepare myself for it.”

 

“Clarke, you and I both know that the bodies aren’t Jasper’s fault. You always associate him with what you did at Mount Weather with Jasper.”

 

Clarke perks at that. “So you’re not real.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

Clarke tries to get through her next words without them quaking. “You don’t know what happened at Mount Weather. You didn’t make it that far.”

 

Finn sighs. “And yet you carry me around with you everywhere. You take me far.”

 

“I killed you.”

 

She says the three words. It isn’t the three words she expected to ever say to him. The three words she always expected were the ones she said before he died. _I love you_.

 

That love has since faded. It’s there, tattooed on her heart, but it doesn’t overtake it like it once had.

 

“You saved me.” Finn says.

 

The binary suns are hovering by the horizon, glittering against the water. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch the two of them sink deeper past the ocean.

 

“This is what you don’t understand, Clarke.” Finn says gently. “Yes, your actions have had consequences. And yes, your actions have caused people to die. But you saved those you could save. And you lost people that were always lost. But the power isn’t given through one person. Power of a relationship – of an outcome – isn’t a single person’s fault. You cannot take the world and then expect to stand.”

 

“It was _my_ fault you died.” Clarke insists. “You did it for me!”

 

“I did it because I was messed up.” Finn states. “I did it because I saw the Grounders burn alive and then you all were missing and all I could think of was, ‘I was wrong. I spent my entire time fighting for peace, when they were going to torture and kill you without remorse. I was _wrong_. I should never have fought for peace.’ But that isn’t on you, Clarke.” Finn sighs, gazing out on the water. “It isn’t really on one specific person.”

 

“How can you say that?”

 

“How can you not? We create wars to fight and then we are surprised when there is consequence. We were a bunch of teenagers. _Teenagers_ , Clarke. And the Ark sent us to die and then they sent us to fight and then they demanded we fall in line. You cannot put a gun in the hands of a child and then ask them later why they are filled with tragedy.”

 

“So is that why you’re here?” Clarke asks, sniffing and wiping under her eyes. “To make me feel better about the decisions I made in war?”

 

“Only you know why we’re here, Clarke.” Finn states. “Perhaps its something you need to hear. We stay with you. Like a code. We’re a part of who you’ve become.”

 

“What I need is for you to be alive.” Clarke says. “What I need is for Jasper to be alive. And Wells. And my Dad. What I need is for you guys to be here.”

 

“That’s not how life works.”

 

“Well, it should be. It _should_ be. It shouldn’t be filled with death and pain and then an explosive conclusion.”

 

“There are good parts, Clarke. They goes smothered in the explosions, sure. But they’re there. And you have to hold onto them because if you don’t, your life will be nothing more than bodies you’ve buried and dreams you’ve sprinkled on the soil.”

 

“You say that now,” she says, wishing she could stop crying. It feels like it’s all she can bring herself to do now. “But you’re gone. I’m still here. No one ever talks about the people left behind. They speak of the dead and talk about fearing death, but what about the survivors? What about the people who have to figure out how to live with them gone? I have to live among the bodies by myself.”

 

“Do you, though?”

 

“Clarke!”

 

Clarke flinches at the noise, turning to see a figure striding over to where she is. He sounds angry and it occurs to her that he has every right to be so. Finn quirks an eyebrow at Bellamy as he strides over. “Wow, he’s different than I remember.” Finn says.

 

“You’ve been dead a long time, Finn.” Clarke mutters under her breath so Bellamy can’t hear when he approaches.

 

“Okay, enough.” Bellamy starts the conversation without doing anything to lead into it.

 

Clarke can tell. Even though he’s softened, even though he’s softened over the past six years, she can still tell when he’s doing whatever it takes to make sure he doesn’t yell. Finn stands close to her, their shoulders brushing against each other and she wishes it would stop. She can’t think when Bellamy is around and she can’t think when ghosts are around, so right now she’s standing between two men she’s loved and nothing makes sense.

 

“Clarke,” he says, the word harsh.

 

Clarke tries to think of another excuse and she realizes something: she has none. She has none and she doesn’t have anything else to give him.

 

She doesn’t have anything else to give anyone.

 

It’s an odd thing, this realization. She spent her entire life – her entire existence – making sure she could save everyone she wanted to save. But the proof is standing literally right next to her: she failed. It was even Bellamy who said it: _people die when she’s in charge_.

 

So she has nothing left to give him.

 

She poured herself out to the world. She poured, and poured, and poured.

 

Then they blew it up.

 

Now she’s empty. Alone. Somewhere far away from home.

 

Lifting her gaze to match his, she can’t feel guilty. She can’t feel indignant or pretend to she’s fine. All she can feel is tired. “I’m sorry.” She says.

 

Whatever Bellamy expected her to say, this clearly wasn’t it. He flinches. His expression softens in that way it does when he understands and she hates it. She can’t bring herself to think too much about that expression because it does things to her that she shouldn’t be allowed to feel. Or, it used to. Now she isn’t sure she can feel anything.

 

“I’m sorry I left.” Clarke continues when he doesn’t say anything. “I-I’ve been having a hard time sleeping lately.”

 

She can see a flash of annoyance flicker in his features. “You didn’t _leave_ , Clarke.” He snaps. “That’s the problem, you’re not _leaving_. Something is going on and you’re having nightmares and they’re not going away. You think we don’t hear you?”

 

“Hear?” Clarke asks. Clarke can’t help it – she panics. She panics because Finn is standing right next to her with an expression she can’t read on his face. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You’re having nightmares. You think we don’t hear the screaming?”

 

Clarke freezes. Pouring a bucket over her head would be less shocking at this point.

 

She thought she was dealing with it alone, she _thought_ she had it all handled. Sure, Shaw knew and Murphy, but that was it. It was the middle of the woods, there weren’t anyone around _but_ her ghosts. No one was supposed to see or hear or—

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarke says.

 

“It does matter!”

 

“It doesn’t!” Clarke shouts. “Because you guys got to be in space and heal and have time and figure out all the shit we did on earth, but I _didn’t_. I _didn’t_. Do you understand that, Bellamy?”

 

Bellamy snaps his mouth shut.

 

“I was stuck on a planet that did its best to try and kill me again and _again_ and—” Clarke blinks a few times, her eyes burning. “And yes, there was peace in the valley. There was peace in the valley because there were only because there _weren’t any other people_. I did everything I could to keep everyone alive and the first thing they did when they got back to the Ground was _kill_ each other for it! I tried _so hard_ to make it ready for everyone and the first thing people did is destroy it!”

 

She can’t help it, she feels her anxiety ratcheting up after she thinks of every moment she felt on the Ground.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, sucking in a breath. She means it. She means it _so much_. “I’m so glad you’re all okay. I was so proud of you when you took off, I was so proud of you.” She says, her voice cracking.

 

She can see Bellamy’s eyes water. They’ve never spoke about that day. Not really. It hangs over them, though. Like a wall that neither of them can cross. “Clarke—"

 

“I was,” she says, pushing every ounce of authenticity that she can. “I was so proud. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

 

Clarke takes a look at her left, where Finn is. His shirt is still stained with the blood that she caused. The blood that stained her hands and her soul and her life.

 

“But I’m not.” Clarke says, not taking her eyes off of Finn. Not taking her eyes off the blood stain on his shirt.

 

She’s never said the words out loud. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how.

 

How do you tell people you’re broken? More importantly, how do you tell yourself?

 

“Clarke—”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She says, finally turning her attention back to Bellamy. “I can’t talk about it. I’m figuring it out, I’m figuring out—”

 

She stops.

 

_We stay with you. Like a code. We’re a part of who you’ve become._

 

Finn’s words echo in her head and finally something makes sense. It’s like it slots together. The puzzle pieces finally click, the world goes back to normal.

 

Turning around, Clarke sees them.

 

She sees all of them.

 

All the dead she’s grieved before.

 

They’re standing several yards away, but she can see the blood from here. Finn’s tied to the pole, her father can’t breathe, Wells soaked in his own blood, Jasper slumped against a tree. Bodies from Mount Weather piling behind them, the empty faces she never truly looked at built around. There’s more and more faces she can’t bring herself to look at.

 

“Like a code.” Clarke whispers.

 

Clarke never really thought about it. She never really thought about the City of Light or the Flame. When Lexa came to her to help, she assumed the Commanders in the Flame were all present.

 

Except it was only Lexa.

 

The grief, the pain, the strain.

 

 _We stay with you_.

 

“No,” she breathes.

 

 _With you_.

 

Finn’s head lulls to the side and she watches as he breathes his last breath again.

 

She feels the weight of his death on her. Again.

 

Reaching up to the back of her neck, Clarke runs her fingers down the scar that’s there, ghosting against her skin.

 

During her years in the valley, she saw ghosts. She saw people who weren’t there. Alive, dead, she saw them all. But she thought it was the radiation, she thought it was the loneliness.

 

“Clarke—”

 

Whirling around, Clarke tears her gaze away from those dying before her. She opens her mouth to try to explain, but she can’t find the words.

 

How can you find something that isn’t there?

 

Clarke turns away from Bellamy.

 

Away from the camp site.

 

Away from the people who’ve collected on this planet.

 

She turns away from them all.

 

Instead, she moves toward her own people.

 

Instead, she moves toward the dead. “What happens to the Commander of Death when there’s no one left to kill?” she whispers under her breath, but it’s caught in the wind. It feels like the words are taken from her and drift to all of the wanders on the planet.

 

Clarke moves towards the dead.

 

“She dies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow, that was a tough one to write for so many reasons. Actually, I was fully intending on having a HUGE fight between Bellamy and Clarke, and then realized it would be pretty OOC, and so I decided having Clarke kinda stun him with talking about the thing that They Don’t Talk About would be more in character.
> 
> Finn was a tough one because while I’m not a huge fan of his character, I know Clarke loved him and her mercy-killing him was such an important event that really dictated how she viewed death and sacrifice. I wanted Finn to be the turning point of, ‘this is happening to me and it’s because of actions I made to try and save everyone – and then the Ground was destroyed.
> 
> And the Flame! My reasoning is this: Raven saw ghosts of the dead, Abby did too from the treatment. The Flame collects souls and memories – codes them into the system. Clarke was an outlier as a synthetic nightblood, and going through heavy trauma. Also, it’s my headcanon that she saw people during her time in the valley, especially because of the line ‘you’re really here.’ So I’m using show-logic (yikes) to put Clarke through angst.
> 
> Also! I’ve decided there are 3 chapters left – and already picked the highlighted characters. One I think will freak people out, but trust me – it’ll make sense when it happens! I know that I could write this story forever – there are so many important characters who have died. But I do want Clarke to learn and grow and grieve and figure out how to live. And if she’s just tormented for endless chapters, I don’t think that’ll work…
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and I hope you are prepared for the last 3 chapters of angst! So much love!


	6. Monty Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! My goal is to be a little more frequent in my updates until the end, not do quite as big of an update wait as last time. I just really struggled with the last chapter, but I think it’s because a lot of my own sort of personal feelings came out in the last one, which made it challenging.
> 
> That said! Let’s do this!

CHAPTER SIX

_Monty Green_

 

Clarke is surprised how easy it is to lose everyone. When she follows the ghosts of those she’s killed and cried over, she weaves throughout the foreign planet like it is the valley, finding small spaces to sneak past and plants to disappear behind.

 

To disappear.

 

She’s tried it before. She’s tried to disappear many times, but it never worked. It’s as if the Universe saw her hide and burned down the world so she couldn’t.

 

Following the in the steps of her father, of Finn, or Wells, Jasper, Maya, Dante, Cage – empty face after empty face – Clarke realizes the shouts and the pounding of footsteps behind her have gone. All she hears is the sounds of the forest and her own labored breathing. At one point, she realizes that she’s stopped trying to escape the people chasing behind her and instead is chasing the people in front of her. Finn manages to get further and further away, as they all did.

 

Placing her hand against the back of her neck, Clarke sucks in a breath. She can feel the small indentation of where the scar is, where the AI was once fused with her brain. Clarke wanders by herself in the forest, trying to figure out where she even is. She isn’t scared, though. There are so many other things to be scared of in this world, she can’t bring herself to be scared of being lost.

 

You could be lost in so many other ways.

 

The further she gets in the forest, the more distance she has between herself and those in the camp, the calmer she feels. She walks among ghosts as if they’re friends. For the first time since she can remember, she doesn’t treat the lives of those lost as something strange and different for her to figure out how to handle. Instead, she walks among them.

 

Perhaps this is how the Commander of Death should’ve been. Perhaps this is how she should’ve embraced the death of everyone around her.

 

Instead of running away, instead of hiding from the faces, she walks among them. They’re not with her now, but she feels them in a way she hasn’t. They weigh on her chest and everything aches, but the sun is still shining through the trees.

 

She reaches an alcove in the forest, a small pool of water glistening in the sunlight. It’s beautiful in the way that fire is beautiful; dangerous and enchanting. She moves closer to it, kicking off her thick boots so that she can feel the earth under her toes. Clarke used to do this in the valley all the time when she needed reminding that she was there, she was alive, she was present.

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say the Commander of Death is afraid of the water.”

 

For the first time, when she hears the voice, she smiles.

 

It’s a voice she never thought she’d hear again. A voice that haunts her dreams some times. The first few days when they awoke everyone from cryo and they were readjusting to the idea that earth was a lost cause, Clarke found herself in a quiet room, listening to the tapes over and over again. Hearing voices of Monty and Harper she would never hear again.

 

Turning around to face him, Clarke smiles. “Monty.”

 

“Clarke.” Monty says, taking a few steps toward her.

 

He isn’t as he was in the tapes. He’s as she remembers him: young, vibrant, and filled with nothing more than a desire for quiet life and peace. He steps right next to her and extends his hand. “Join me?” Monty asks.

 

Clarke looks at it. Sure, she has touched the hallucinations from the AI. She’s spoke and wept and felt those around her. But she knows what’s happening now.

 

It’s as if there was a switch. When the dead were coming to visit her, she was afraid. She was afraid of what it meant, afraid of what was happening to her. Now? Now she thinks of everything that brought her to this moment and isn’t afraid.

 

Taking Monty’s hand, she lets him lead her to the water.

 

It hits her legs and she shivers, but a part of her doesn’t feel it. It’s sharp and breathtaking and she knows that she should be feeling something and she doesn’t. Monty continues to lead her there until the water is up to her chest. It makes it hard to breathe, but a part of her wonders if she can’t breathe regardless. “Clarke,” he says warmly.

 

Clarke can’t help but marvel because he’s not just young, but he’s like he was when they first got to the Ground. It’s odd, seeing him without Jasper next to him. He’s staring at her in a way that he started to do right before he died. “Hey Monty,” Clarke says. “I know you’re not real, but thank you for everything you did for us. For what you gave up.”

 

Monty smiles. “I didn’t give up anything. The only thing I gave up is a lifetime of potential pain.”

 

Clarke frowns. “It doesn’t have to be pain.”

 

“Really, Clarke?” Monty asks, an unreadable expression. “After everything that happened on the Ground, you really think that we have a chance for happiness in this life?”

 

“Didn’t you?” She asks gently. “Did you have that – with Harper?”  


“I did.” He says, a wry smile on his face. “But we only got a small piece of happy. We had each other, but we spent our lives watching you sleep. It was amazing, it was. But that’s the thing about happiness. Not everything is happy all the time. You get pockets, but it’s never everything. My best friend was still dead, my family was asleep, and the only plants we were surrounded by were the synthetic ones I made. I loved my life. But you don’t get everything.”

 

“I know that,” Clarke whispers.

 

“Do you?” Monty asks. “Do you know that? That you have to find happiness where you can because it won’t be handed to you. And it definitely won’t be handed to you all at once.”

 

It’s peaceful in this lagoon. Clarke wonders how many serene pockets there are in this world.

 

Maybe she should disappear.

 

Clarke doesn’t answer Monty right away. She thinks it’s fair. He’s not real, he’s nothing more than the affects of the Flame messing with her mind, so she thinks it’s alright to keep him waiting.

 

The water is just so cold. At one point, she can’t feel her legs anymore and honestly? She’s alright with it. “I do know that.” Clarke says, sucking in a breath. “I just don’t think that anything will be handed to someone like me.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Monty, you of all people know what I’ve done.”

 

“What _we’ve_ done!”

 

When he shouts at her, Clarke actually takes a step back. Monty, however, doesn’t move. He stands in front of her, tears in his eyes. Gazing down at the water, Monty takes a shaky breath. “Do you not remember I was _in_ the room?”

 

Clarke feels like the earth falls from underneath her feet.

 

He doesn’t need to say it. She knows exactly what he’s talking about.

 

Clarke has tried to forget about that day. The day where Cage Wallace won’t let her people go and she stands over the lever, Bellamy hovering over her. It haunts her in a way few memories do. Even after her time in the valley, she could never shake that day. The day she totally embraced the burden of the weight of the world.

 

“Monty—”

 

“No. No, don’t do that, don’t reduce my role in it.” Monty says, growing sober. “You would not have been able to kill everyone without me. You would _not_ have been able to pull that lever without me. You would _not_ have been able to kill everyone in Mount Weather without me. _I_ was there. Dammit, Clarke, _I_ was _there!_ ”

 

The pain in his voice is so palpable, it’s like her breath left her.

 

“Do you not think of me, Clarke?”

 

Clarke takes another step back. “What?”

 

Monty’s lip trembles. When he says it again, it’s a whisper. Pained and dark, like every other horrible thought she ever had. “Do you not think of me?”

 

“I think of you every day.” Clarke says, her voice rough. “I think of you when I see the way the trees sway in the wind. I think of you when I watch the sunrise over the planet and I think of you and Harper whenever I see Jordan. You are all over this life – there’s no way I could ever forget you.”

 

“Yes,” Monty nods. “Yes, that’s how I want you to remember me. But you forget the pain it took to get me there. I was there in Mount Weather. I was there every step of the way! And you _never_ let me in. You _never_ came to me. I could’ve been there for you!”

 

“No you couldn’t, Monty!” Clarke shouts, unable to stop her anger from boiling over. “I would never _put_ that on you!”

 

“It was already _on_ me, Clarke!” Monty yells back. “You can’t take everyone’s pain and then expect them to forget it exists. Sure, you may have taken the responsibility of that day, but you didn’t erase what _I_ did to get us here!” Monty takes a quick step forward. “I was there! Dammit Clarke, I was there!”

 

“I know you were there!”

 

“I am here, Clarke!”  


“No you’re not!” Clarke shouts. She brings her hands down, submerging them in the water as well. “You’re not here. And I couldn’t stop it.”

 

Monty smiles. He places a hand on her shoulder, pressing down slightly. “No,” he breathes. “And that’s the point you need to learn.”

 

A bird chirps in the distance.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“That’s the point.” Monty says. “You couldn’t do anything to stop it. Because I chose this. Harper _chose_ this. We chose to stay and we chose to live our lives a certain way. That is not on you. Our deaths are not _on you_. You need to stop taking burden where there is none.”

 

“Don’t you see though, Monty?” Clarke asks and he keeps his hand on her shoulder. “Everything that has happened on the Ground is my _fault_.”

When she says it, it’s like the tension that she’s been carrying around for years lifts.

 

She’s never said it out loud before. The dark thoughts have rolled around in her head, but she’s never put the words out in the universe. When she says it out loud, something shifts.

 

All the people, all the ghost that have been haunting her for not just her time on the new planet, but time on the Ground, feel closer. Closer in a way that’s not suffocating. In a way that’s serene.

 

Clarke opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

 

She’s never said the words, despite how true she believes them to be.

 

“It’s my fault.” She finally manages. “Everything is my fault.” Blinking away a few tears, Clarke tries to feel the sun on her skin, but she doesn’t. Heaving a breath, Clarke surveys the lagoon around her. Sure, she can’t see them, but she can feel everyone around her, waiting for her to speak. “Jasper was wrong. The danger to the earth wasn’t humanity. It was me.” Wiping under her nose, Clarke tries to settle her voice, but finds that she can’t do it. “I thought I could run from it. I thought I could overcome it. But it’s there. Every decision I made, made life a little bit worse.”

 

Monty huffs a humorless laugh. “And here you are, still not listening to me. You are not God, Clarke. You don’t make decisions for everyone. Your decisions were great, but they didn’t extend to all of humanity. Just like you had no hand in my death.”

 

“You don’t understand—”

 

“I would hope by now you, of all people, would know not to argue with me. Don’t let the plants fool you.”

 

Clarke closes her eyes, tears skating down her cheeks. “Monty—”

 

“I’ve been saying this for ages, Green is Good.”

 

His hand is still on her shoulder. The pressure is more than she would expect from Monty – expect from a ghost, to be honest – until her shoulders are at the water line. “You are taking it too far, Clarke. We’re not here to try and move past what’s happened. We’re here to make sure you’re looking at it the way you need to be. So you can see who needs you. And needs you to move forward.”

 

He pushes her further.

 

When her head submerges underwater, it’s a shock. The coldness grips her body and she freezes, unsure of what happened.

 

Then, something changes.

 

It’s peaceful.

 

There’s something about being submerged and the water being muffled. The world melts away. It’s nothing more than a blurred image, moving around in slow motion around her. She doesn’t try to open her eyes, she merely feels her feet collapse underneath her until she’s no longer on the ground.

 

She’s floating

 

Nothing ties her to the planet.

 

For a moment, she has peace.

 

Then a hand reaches into the water and drags her out, yanking until she’s pulled onto the earth. Spluttering as she rolls onto her back, Clarke sits up, trying to make sense of the world.

 

Because everything’s changed.

 

Everything she thought she knew was true was wrong. She sits up, breathing in the sharp air of the new world and blinking into the sunlight, a figure shaking their head next to her, droplets of water hitting her face. She flinches, blinking until they come into view.

 

“Bellamy?” She asks, coughing a few times.

 

Bellamy is so close to her, she could touch him. He’s dripping wet and wild-eyed. “What the hell, Clarke?” He exclaims. “What was that all about?”

 

“What are you—”

 

“You went under!” He accuses before she can even get a sentence out. “You went under and then you didn’t come back up! What is going on?”

 

“Bellamy—”

 

“No!” He shouts.

 

It’s been a while since she’s seen him this mad. She _feels_ it, it’s there and loud and right in her face. Except there’s something hidden underneath. Something hidden, like _fear_.

 

Clarke stares.

 

Bellamy’s afraid.

 

A terrible thought hits. Bellamy’s afraid of _her._

 

That realization hits her harder than any ghost could. She knew that she drove fear into people – she hated it, but she always _knew_. But Bellamy?  Bellamy was more than she could handle.

 

“I-I don’t even know what to—” Bellamy tries to start, staring at her like he’s desperately pleading for her to explain. She wouldn’t know where to start, even if she wanted to. “Clarke, please.”

 

She doesn’t know what that means. Her ears are filled with water and everything’s still slightly muffled, but he’s pleading. Instinctually, she reaches for the back her neck where the scar is, staring where Monty once was.

 

He isn’t there.

 

It’s nothing but placid water.

 

Clarke Griffin was always a myth.

 

She was the Commander of Death, she was the leader of Skaikru, she was the survivor of Praimfaya. She was a legend. She was more than what the Ground could offer. Clarke Griffin would be remembered in all the ways she wished she wouldn’t.

 

But, the best way to destroy the idea of a person?

 

Destroy the person.

 

Clarke looks at Bellamy, her fingers ghosting her neck. “I told you,” she says, unable to process anything he’s saying. She thinks that he may even be saying something, but she can’t hear it. “I _told_ you that I didn’t want the Flame for Madi. I _told_ you that she couldn’t have it, but you did it anyways.”

 

Bellamy recoils, his eyes wide. Whatever he expected her to say, this clearly isn’t it.

 

Her lower lip trembles. “You don’t understand.” She says, her voice cracking. “You don’t understand because you can’t. You can’t understand the Flame. You can’t understand the power it has. You can’t understand what it does because you’ve never experienced it.” Clarke turns her attention to back to the lagoon.

 

Monty stands in the center, his hands out. Beckoning. Gesturing for him to join her again.

 

Oh, how she wants to.

 

Instead, she focuses on Bellamy. “I asked you. I _begged_ you. I don’t want this for anyone. No one deserves this.”

 

Then she sucks in a breath.

 

“Not even me.”

 

“Clarke, what is going on?” Bellamy shouts, once he’s regrouped. “You have to tell me, there’s no other option now.”

 

“What I said!” Clarke all but screams, even though she knows it doesn’t make any sense.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I told you the Flame was dangerous!” She shouts, clambering to her feet and rushing to where she is. Jabbing her finger against his chest, Clarke feels like they’re just now on earth again. “I told you that it was a death sentence!”

 

“Madi isn’t dead!” Bellamy bellows back, anger striking him. “Madi is fine and in camp and—”

 

“What about me?” She interrupts. “I wasn’t just talking about the Flame in Madi! You don’t understand because she’s not the only one that’s had that AI from Hell in her head!”

 

Bellamy steps back. “Clarke,”

 

“I know what it’s like!” She says. “I know what it’s like to have the Flame in your head and I’m living with the consequences!”

 

“The consequences?” Bellamy asks, startled. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I tried to explain,” Clarke whispers, placing her hands against her forehead. “I _always_ try to explain. But no one ever listens to what I say, no one ever _listens_ to my plans! I never wanted Madi to have the Flame. Children aren’t tools in war, they’re actual innocents being destroyed!”

 

“Clarke, you know I—”

 

“I never wanted Madi to become me!”

 

Bellamy stares.

 

He stares as if he doesn’t understand the sentence. He stares as if he doesn’t see her the way she sees herself. That’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s the key to the tragedy. The tragedy is she is too broken to be anything more than she is now: a ghost seeing ghosts. The key is was that there was no fixing her.

 

How can you fix a ghost?

 

“This is not the life I would wish on anyone.” Clarke continues when Bellamy continues to stare. “Who would want this? To live on a planet surrounded with ghosts?”

 

“Is that what you’re seeing?” Bellamy asks. “Are you seeing ghosts?”

 

Clarke tries to think of how she should answer this. “I-I—”

 

Monty steps out of the lagoon, gesturing to her.

 

“I’m sorry, but I have to follow Monty.”

 

“What?” Bellamy exclaims, grabbing her arm.

 

When he pulls her close, it’s as if all her logic falls away. He’s pulled her closer to him, she can feel his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, and his face centimeters from hers.

 

There lies the issue: she _wants_ this.

 

The selfish side of her _wants_ this. Placing her hands against his chest, she dreams. She dreams of what it would be like to close the last few inches to his face. She dreams of what it would be like to be happy. To embrace this. To ignore the ghosts crowding around her mind and focus on the living.

 

Except she can’t.

 

***

 

She waits until Bellamy isn’t paying attention to leave. Or rather, moves to call some other people.

 

Monty hovers by the edge of the tree line, quiet yet intentional. He beckons her forward and she follows. Is she past saying no to anyone anymore? Can she tell people no if it’s breaking her? Or will she let them break and break and break and break.

 

Until she is nothing more than pieces that blow away in the wind?

 

“I didn’t mean to leave you out, Monty.” She says when they stroll through the planet.

 

Monty sighs. “I know you didn’t, Clarke. No one ever means to.” He crouches down and brushes his fingers against a flower that has the most vibrant colors she’s ever seen. “I would’ve really loved to have seen this.” He says softly. “It’s as beautiful as it was in my dreams. You used to find beauty in the world, Clarke. Before everything. Even when you were trying to make sure we were alive, you still were in awe of the world.”

 

“Yeah,” She breathes. “It was fresh and new. Exactly how I pictured it would be. But then it was covered in blood.”

 

“It was already covered in blood, Clarke.” Monty states. “You simply didn’t see it until it was coming from your own hands.”

 

He makes a sharp turn and it occurs to Clarke how long they’ve been walking because when they turn, she sees the Eligius city looming before her. Stopping, she turns to Monty. “Why did you bring me here?”

 

“You can only find peace when you look for the beauty and not the pain.” Monty says, still moving forward. “The Ground was beautiful, in its own way.”

 

“It was beautiful in the way Praimfaya was beautiful.” Clarke snaps. “Enchanting and deadly.”

 

Monty nudges her shoulder. “Some of the best things are.”

 

He continues until she’s in front of a house that’s vaguely familiar, the garden in front still bright with color and sheets of canvas draped over the clothes lines in the back. Clarke turns her head sharply to ask Monty why he brought her here, but when she does, he’s nowhere to be seen. “Monty?” She asks.

 

Clarke’s not used to a gentle goodbye with her ghosts. But he leaves her side the same way he left the universe: when she wasn’t watching.

 

She feels the hole left by her friend who she loved, but never enough. Clarke thinks about that day, with Bellamy’s hand on hers as she tries to will herself to pull the lever. The world had melted away. It was growing, rising, lifting up like a tidal wave until they pulled the lever and everything came crashing down.

 

Pushing open the door to the art shop, Clarke peeks around the dark room. “Hello?” She calls.

 

There are even more paintings then before, if possible. They’re stacked against one another so that she can’t even see them all. “Clarke?”

 

“Louise!” Clarke says, exhaling.

 

The woman rounds a corner until she’s in view, covered in paint. “What are you doing here, love? I heard that you were feeling ill and returned to your people.”

 

Clarke takes a breath. Here, there are no ghosts, there are no decisions to be made. She’s surrounded by art and paintings and light and something shifts in her chest.

 

“Yes, I-I—” Clarke tries to come up with an answer, but finds she’s running up short.

 

Louise waves her hands to push Clarke’s words aside. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad to see you. You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

 

Clarke can’t help the smile that stretches across her face. “That sounds wonderful.”

 

“I’ll get it ready. Why don’t you go outside to the table and I’ll bring it out to you.”

 

Clarke does as she’s told, pushing past the loose canvas until she’s outside. Once there, she sits at the table she once did before and breathes.

 

There’s something about being alone that allows her to gain perspective. Allows her mind to slot things into place, make sense in the chaos, quiet the screaming of her mind. She’s at peace with the art, even though it didn’t come from her hands.

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

Clarke flinches at the voice, whirling to see a figure standing at the back door. “I-I’m sorry?”

 

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”

 

A younger man steps into the courtyard, covered in paint and hands grasping brushes. Clarke pops out of the chair and gestures wildly at the house. “I-I’m here vising Louise!” She exclaims quickly. “I’m sorry, I just dropped by, but she’s making tea and—”

 

_“Who?”_

 

It’s as if he’s poured ice water down her back.

 

She stills, not longer a ball of frantic energy. “What?” She asks, voice rough.

 

“What the hell are you talking about, this is my studio!” The man says, all but charging toward her. “And you’re trespassing!”

 

That’s when Louise catches her eye.

 

The woman is standing in the house, hands bare. She waves Clarke inside, but there’s something different now. She’s standing tall, proud, unwavering. Clarke has only seen this stillness with a single group of people. A group of people whose knowledge grows with every death, who approaches death the same way they approach life: as an honorable sacrifice.

 

“Commander.” Clarke breathes.

 

She barely registers the man anymore, still yelling at her for trespassing. She barely registers the yelling or the chill she feels in her bones.

 

All she sees is the Commander beckoning her forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow! So close to being done! I was going to have next chapter’s ghost show up here, but I decided to wait because I really want it to be a whole isolated chapter and be a bit of surprise in THAT chapter. And shoutout to the people who guessed Louise was a ghost! (straight up, I called her that because of the play on Lewis and Clarke because I’m a big NERD) yes, she’s one of the Commanders in the Flame. In my mind, all the Commanders died pretty young due to the timing (which is a hilarious headcanon, because it means the Flame is filled with a bunch of teenagers), but I made Louise old for a specific reason, which will reveal next chapter.
> 
> Also! Next chapter is the reason for this whole story. Clarke is working through something, which will come to light next chapter. There’s a reason she’s seeing the dead, and more importantly, there’s a reason she’s seeing the dead NOW. I won’t say anymore to that.
> 
> Minor Bellamy / Clarke fight because I can’t help but love angst. Who am I kidding, this fic is basically solid angst wrapped up with a bow…


	7. Bellamy Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! 
> 
> I hope you all are doing well! I can’t believe this is almost over! Two chapters left – can you believe?!
> 
> I’m excited for this one… I will say, this one may be a bit more explosive than the others. The others have been a bit introspective, but this one’s here to throw down.
> 
> Let’s do this!

CHAPTER SEVEN

_Bellamy Blake_

 

Vaguely, Clarke’s aware that someone is still yelling at her back, but she can’t take her eyes off Louise.

 

Clarke isn’t sure how she missed it before; as soon as the woman straightened up, she saw it. She saw the years in her eyes that told stories of death and despair, hope and heartbreak. It was recognizable as the own darkness in her own soul. Clarke takes a careful step toward the woman.

 

Louise doesn’t do the same.

 

Instead, she waits until Clarke is right in front of her, her silver hair shimmering in the sunlight. “Wanheda.” Louise says.

 

She can’t help it, she physically balks to that. The nickname that burned the Earth to the Ground. Clarke never wanted it to follow her to the new planet, but here she’s saying it as if it’s her destiny for the rest of her life. “Why are you here?” She asks, her words so quiet, she isn’t sure anyone would be able to hear.

 

A volume only meant for ghosts.

 

Louise reaches out, both hands in front of her, palms upward. “Let’s take a walk, Wanheda.” She says. “Join me, in which all Commanders are meant to. Even the Commander of Death.”

 

“Please don’t call me that.”

 

If Louise registers what she’s said, she doesn’t say it. Instead, the moment Clarke places her own hands in hers, she pulls her forward and leads her to the outskirts of the Eligius city, where there’s nothing but trees and meadows.

 

In a different lifetime, Clarke would paint all of this. She would pain the colors she’s never seen before. A visual spectrum that light did not gift them on earth. Colors she didn’t know the names of, given by light too bright and too strong. In another lifetime, she would have spent her days trying to capture it as much as she could, despite knowing she never would. It would be the best use of her time and life she could think of. Going quietly into the night, leaving nothing more than a trail of painted footsteps, instead of those covered in blood.

 

Louise stops when they reach a meadow, blanketed with flowers of all kinds that she’s never seen. They come up to her ankles, caressing her skin as she moves through them. Louise lets go of her hands and makes her way further, not turning around. “We never expected our reign to extend universes.” She says distantly, gazing off to the sky.

 

“It was never supposed to.” Clarke states, unable to prevent the curtness in her voice. “The Flame was never something that was supposed to last this long.”

 

Louise huffs. “You speak as though you do not appreciate its power.”

 

“You speak as though it’s not just a piece of technology that has evolved from a mass-murdering A.I.”

 

That’s what causes Louise to finally turn around, her eyes sharp. “I would choose your words wisely. I wouldn’t want them to be your last.”

 

“People always think that they will be the one to kill me.” Clarke says, tilting her chin up. “And yet, I’m the one still here.”

 

Nodding, Louise says, “It makes sense. That the only person strong enough to kill the Commander of Death, would be the Commander of Death herself.” Louise moves closer. “I’ve seen inside your mind, Wanheda. From the moment you were connected with the Flame, you’ve become connected with us. All of us. The Commanders.”

 

“You’re right,” Clarke states. “I am connected with you all. And because of this, I know that the Commanders should’ve died along with the Earth.”

 

“You say that, despite having a Commander as a daughter! Despite being a Commander yourself!”

 

“Do you think I _want_ to be the Commander of Death?” Clarke asks, feeling herself grow a little hysterical. “Do you think I _ever_ wanted to be the Commander of Death? Trust me, if I was given an opportunity to never be the Commander of Death, I would take it! That’s the issue with Commanders! I saw it in Octavia on the Ground – people who _should_ be in charge shouldn’t want to. No one who is looking out for the good of their people _wants_ to decide who lives and dies.”

 

Clarke takes a quick breath. She thinks of the dead. The dead that has surrounded her life, building her a mountain that she’ll never be able to finish climbing. Instead, she’s forced to face the empty expressions of those she’s killed and carry their names with her.

 

“I did not want this for Madi,” she says once she’s settled, her voice wavering. “No person would ever want this for a child.”

 

“But Madi is not alone.” Louise states. “She has the Commanders before her.”

 

“And what of them?” Clarke shouts, losing it a little. “What of the Commanders? I’ve had that thing in my head, I’ve seen what the Commanders create. I’ve seen Lexa shot before my eyes by her own Flamekeeper. I’ve seen Ontari slaughter innocent children to steal the throne. I’ve seen Luna run away from the violence of it – to prevent her from killing more people. I’ve seen Becca Pramheda and the A.I. she made to destroy the world. That isn’t a history for a child! That isn’t a place for a twelve-year-old who lost her entire family – her entire people!” Clarke knows she’s yelling, but she can’t bring herself to stop.

 

The fear of the Flame in Madi hits her all at once, and for the first time since it happened, she wishes it was lodged in her own neck. It would be her final act.

 

To bear it, so Madi didn’t have to.

 

“Her parents hid her under the floor, because they knew.” Clarke says, a tear sliding down her cheek. “They hid her because they knew what having black blood meant. And I’m supposed to be alright with it? I’m supposed to do everything in my power to keep her alive at the end of the world and then as soon as things get complicated and hard, go, ‘okay Madi, remember everything your parents told you and how terrified you are of the Flame? Deal with it, anyways!’”

 

“Is that not what happened to you?”

 

“She didn’t get a choice!” Clarke shouts.

 

“Nor did you.” 

 

Clarke recoils. “Excuse me?”

 

“Did you get a choice, Wanheda?”

 

“This isn’t about me.”

 

“Isn’t it, though?”

 

Clarke stands, the wind blowing gently around her. She becomes very aware of it, bristling her skin and sinking into her bones. Wrapping her hands around herself, Clarke closes her eyes and thinks of Earth.

 

She never even got to say goodbye.

 

She spent her entire time on the Ark dreaming about one day going to the Ground. And then she spent her entire time on the Ground planning how to keep everyone alive. She never got the moments in between, where she got to see the trees the way she imagined they’d be. Or climb the waterfalls she saw in books.

 

A part of her will hate the Earth for what it did to her. What it took from her. What it took from everyone.

 

Still… it was more of a home than she ever had. A girl made of stars was not meant to live in a metal prison in the sky. Someone made of stars was meant to explore the universe.

 

So she explored. And she never said goodbye.

 

It was Madi’s home. It’s where she buried Wells. Finn. Lexa. Lincoln. Name after name.

 

“It’s not the point,” Clarke says. “I understand that I can’t take back what I’ve done. What I did to the planet. But I had a responsibility to protect Madi. I had a responsibility to protect her from the Flame. All it does is hurt.”

 

“You say that to a Commander?”

 

“I say that _as_ a Commander.” Clarke says, her voice strong and unwavering.

 

The two stand in the meadow, with nothing more than their pride to armor them. When Louise doesn’t back down, Clarke deflates and sighs. “The Flame never should’ve come here. It destroys.”

 

“People destroy.”

 

“And the Flame harvests people,” Clarke says, her voice tired. “It’s a piece of technology made by a scientist who went to far. It’s as innocuous as the rocket we landed here on, but infinitely more deadly.”

 

“Perhaps you are afraid of the past.”

 

“Of course I am.” Clarke answers. “If Bellamy taught me anything, it’s that history repeats itself. These things we deal with aren’t new. Humans continue to hurt each other and the worlds they live in because they aren’t careful with what they do. Monty was right. We can’t be living by a code that says there aren’t any good or bad guys. We have to be the good guys. We have to break the cycle of wars and violent humanity. We have to be better.”

 

Louise hesitates. “Who would think that the Commander of Death would be the one to lead her people toward living?”

 

“They’re not my people anymore.”

 

“Yes, they are.” Louise states. “Because you cherish them. And you carry them with you. As you said, a Commander doesn’t want to be a Commander. They are a Commander because they know the value of a life.” Taking a few steps forward, Louise places a hand on Clarke’s. “Wanheda, it’s time.” Louise states, reaching to her side and unsheathing the sword there.

 

Clarke takes it only because she’s surprised.

 

It reminds her of her gun on earth. The metal is rusted, jagged, yet sharp. On the handle she sees all the names of those lost. They’re etched in the leather, in her own handwriting.

 

“Time for what?”

 

“Clarke!”

 

When she hears her name, Clarke turns around, sword in hand.

 

Bellamy storms through the sea of wildflowers, a glint in his eye that she doesn’t quite recognize. Now, she knows that she’s sleep-deprived and has the imprint of a deadly A.I. in her brain, but she almost is _afraid_ of him. Clarke has never in her life been afraid of Bellamy. Even at his darkest – or her darkest – he was always someone she trusted.

 

“Bellamy, listen,” Clarke says, putting her hand without the sword up. “I know you’re upset I left, but you have to understand—”

 

“You did leave.” He states, bringing his own hand from behind his back. In it is a sword that Clarke recognizes as Azgeda, which he flips once. “You left me in the bunker to die, remember?”

 

Without another word, Bellamy extends his hand out with the sword and swings it without any warning. Clarke brings her own up instinctively, the two clashing as she dips under the force of it. “Bellamy!” Clarke exclaims, her heart ratcheting up. Except she doesn’t have any time to catch herself before he moves, swiping his legs from underneath her.

 

When Clarke falls, the flowers aren’t soft. She only has moments to gather herself in order before he’s swinging down at her again. Grabbing the sword that left her grasp, Clarke brings it up and parries the blow as quick as possible. “What are you doing, Bellamy?” She cries. With every ounce of energy she can, she shoves it off to the side, so that he stumbles, giving her just enough time to scramble to her feet.

 

They’re only a few strides apart. Bellamy stands before her, his shoulders tall and broad, sword out in front of him. “You left me to die, Clarke.” Bellamy says, a tension in his body that scares her. She doesn’t know when he’s going to attack, so she keeps her own sword at the ready, although her feet are unsteady. “You left me again. And again. After Mt. Weather—”

 

He swings and she cries out, barely blocking it.

 

“At Polis—”

 

Again, she barely manages to slip away from his swing.

 

“And then in the bunker.”

 

“Bellamy—”

 

Before she can utter a word, he charges. Their swords connect and she feels it in her entire body. Except he keeps going. Clarke loses her footing and Bellamy tackles her, both of their swords clattering to the ground.

 

He’s on top of her, wrists pinned at her head. She can feel his weight on her and the anger that drips from every part of him.

 

She was waiting for this. Clarke knew his forgiveness was too good to be true.

 

As he holds her there, Clarke finds her chest heave. She waits for him to scream, she waits for him to yell, she waits for him to _do_ something.

 

Then she sees him. She sees him, really _sees_ him.

 

It’s been so long.

 

“I’m sorry,” she manages, her voice small. He still holds her there, but there’s something behind his eyes that falter. “I shouldn’t have left you to Octavia.”

 

His grip tightens.

 

The flowers are tickling her face. Clarke knows there’s a part of her that should be scared. There’s a part of her that knows that she should be planning a way to escape. But she finds that she has no more fight in her. Her fight was over the day of Praimfaya.

 

“I don’t think I ever explained to you that day,” she continues when Bellamy doesn’t go for the swords at their right. “I never explained what happened. You see, I waited for you. For six years.”

 

Bellamy continues to have her pinned, but the anger is dissipating. “I called you ever day,” she continues, her voice breaking. A tear slides down the side of her face and is replaced with another the second it drips from her cheek. “You asked me once how I survived on my own. I told you I had Madi. Which, I did. But I lied. I survived because I had _you_.”

 

His grip on her wrists lessen.

 

“That day you left me chained up, I thought the world ended. I wasn’t afraid when Praimfaya hit. I wasn’t afraid of the flames or being left to die. I wanted to do that. I was so proud that you used your head and managed to save everyone. I’ve never been more proud of you. Because I know what it must’ve felt like to do so. I’ve lost people. God, Bellamy, I’ve lost people.” Clarke states, her lips trembling.

 

As if she conjured them, the ranks of the dead step from the woods into the meadow. She sees her father standing close to her, gazing down with a loving expression she thought she didn’t deserve. Wells moves so he’s by her head, and even that calms her down. Finn, Jasper, Monty. They’re all _there._

 

She’s not afraid of them.

 

“I called you every day,” she says, her voice cracking. “I called you ever day for 2,199 days, waiting for you to come home. Not Raven, not Monty, _you_. Because I never told you how much—”

 

Swallowing, Clarke barely feels Bellamy on top of her anymore.

 

“When you left me chained, I thought you no longer needed me. I died and I was no longer someone. You said you had to save your family, and in turn decided to sacrifice mine. And for what?” Clarke asks. “For your sister? For your real family? Was I really nothing to you?”

 

The last part, she whispers.

 

There is it. The darkest part of her mind finally said out loud.

 

“It felt like I was.”

 

The wind takes her words away and Bellamy no longer holds her wrists. Instead, he lets go and braces himself on his hands next to her head.

 

“I know that it’s not my place to say this.” Clarke says. “Because there may be too much between us now. Maybe we were meant to be nothing more than leaders in the world, but strangers in the dark. But I have to say,” Reach up, Clarke places a gentle hand against his face. “I love you. And I have loved you. More than 2,199 days. More than the spaces between. I have lost so much. But losing you was more than I thought I could take. I lost you that day I left, I think.”

 

There’s nothing more emptying than loving someone and then having them leave.

 

“I don’t need you,” Clarke continues, blinking away more tears. “I don’t. That’s not something against you, it’s just a fact. I’ve lost so many people and I thought that I would shatter. And I did a bit. Pieces were chipped. But I wasn’t destroyed. I-I don’t need you to be a person.”

 

It’s true. The world tore her apart and she managed to stand anyway.

 

Clarke lifts her head slightly. “But I want you.” She admits. “I don’t need you to survive, but I want you to live. Because… because I love you.”

 

“Clarke.”

 

When she hears her name, she already knows.

 

Turning her head, Bellamy stands a few years away from her, soft. It’s the Bellamy she’s known. The one that learned from his mistakes and had done everything he could to be the man his mother wanted him to be. Be the man that he wanted to be. And he succeeded. He doesn’t move, hands at his sides.

 

Glancing above her, Clarke sighs to herself.

 

There’s no one there.

 

Even the swords are gone. The meadow has nothing more than a single set of footsteps. No evidence of a fight. No broken flowers. Only a broken girl laying amongst them.

 

Even her ghosts are finally gone.

 

“Clarke,” Bellamy repeats, his eyes watering. “I—”

 

The world is a heavy burden.

 

Which is why she feels everything, then nothing but black.

 

***

 

When Clarke returns, everything is in a haze.

 

The world is loud and she can hear her own breathing, as if in a metal can.

 

Whirling around, Clarke takes stock of her surroundings. She realizes she can hear her breathing because she has a helmet on. Her hands are tingling because she’s surrounded by snow. Her ears are ringing because the earth is ending.

 

 _Praimfaya_.

 

“—if this is one of those moments where you tell me to use my head—” Someone’s snapping impatiently in front of her.

 

“No,” Clarke finds herself saying.

 

Bellamy’s standing in front of her, eyes more panicked than she knows he would ever let anyone else see. Murphy’s a few yards away, yelling for them to hurry up and Raven’s already run back to Becca’s lab. “I just wanted to say—” Clarke licks her lips, the urge to play off her feelings strong.

 

Except she spent what felt like lifetimes replaying this moment in her head again and again.

 

“I don’t want to be left alone.”

 

When Clarke says it, it’s as if the rage of Praimfaya is no longer a part of the world. Sure, it’s still ending, but everything melts away like the fire on the snow around them. She’s surprised by her own honesty – her own admission of fear. When she left them that day, a part of her had hoped that she would make it back to them.

 

Now?

 

She knows how this story ends and she’s _afraid_.

 

Bellamy recoils at her words. “What?” He asks, word panicked. “Clarke, this isn’t goodbye. You will get the satellite online and we are going to space. We just have to hurry—”

 

“I love you.”

 

The words spill from her lips before she can stop them, and then Bellamy faces her. He’s no longer halfway towards Murphy, but standing so close, Clarke considers gripping his suit to selfishly keep him here with her. “What?” he breathes.

 

“If something happens—”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you, _nothing_ is happening to you!” Bellamy cries, his voice verging on manic. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you making it sound like a goodbye?”

 

“Because that’s what I needed you to hear, Bellamy. _That’s_ what I need you to know. Is that you are _good_. You are a _leader_. And your mom would be so proud of you. Because I know I am.”

 

Bellamy shakes his head, now gripping her shoulders. “You have to stop talking like this. You have to stop talking like we won’t see each other again. We _will_ meet again – in that damn lab! We will talk about what you just said because I can’t have you saying that to me when you think you’re about to die. If you’re going to tell me you love me, I want to hear it when the world’s not ending. I can’t have you telling me this as a goodbye. I can’t.”

 

 _I want you, but I don’t need you_.

 

Clarke’s own words play in her head. Gazing behind her shoulder, she sees the satellite tower. She moves to go toward it, but Bellamy holds her there. “What are you doing?” She asks when he doesn’t let go.

 

“You’re scaring me, Clarke.” Bellamy says. “I can’t let you go if you think you’re going to die. I-I can’t go if you think you aren’t making it back.”

 

Clarke’s eyes water. “You have to let me go, Bellamy.”

 

“Clarke—”

 

“You have to let me go.”

 

Moments pass.

 

And he does.

 

Everything starts to fade.

 

The world, Praimfaya, Bellamy.

 

And yet Clarke still walks on.

 

Perhaps Louise was right. No one can kill the Commander of Death.

 

So she embraces the end of the world instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: DO YOU LIKE HEAVY HANDED METAPHORS FOR GUILT
> 
> DO YOU LIKE WORKING THROUGH YOUR ACTIONS AND DECISIONS
> 
> DO YOU LIKE ACCEPTING THE PAST AND MOVING FORWARD
> 
> DO I HAVE THE FIC FOR YOU
> 
> So the reason I wanted Clarke to be so distant with Bellamy this whole fic because she was really working through what happened in the events of S5. And that she carries the guilt of leaving him to die with her, and she doesn’t really know how to be with him when she still has that guilt too. Not to mention, the fact that home girl is super in love with him. I mean, I’ve never called someone 2199 days in a row platonically.
> 
> And yes, I had to have a go at the Flame again. I really wanted Clarke to interact with an elder Commander – and basically say, ‘hey – being a commander has destroyed me and all I wanted was for it to keep it from destroying Madi, is that too bad???’ Because I think there’s an interesting dichotomy here: yes, Clarke left Bellamy to die and I do believe that is something she will seriously struggle with in S6. However, Bellamy also betrayed her and gave what Clarke views as a death sentence to her daughter. So… lots to unpack.
> 
> And the last scene. Yes, it is a flashback / hallucination (she isn’t going back in time or something) where she embraces it as she did before, but with the idea that she can’t keep holding onto it all – the deaths, the decisions, the earth, and Bellamy. Because she has to let everyone go because she’s falling apart. And She needs to figure out how to piece it back together. And it was really important for me to have Clarke acknowledge that she can totally survive by herself – but she doesn’t WANT to. 
> 
> Anyways, I know this is a bit short than my usual chapter, but lots to delve into. I hope you enjoyed and one chapter to go! <3 <3 <3


	8. Atom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves!
> 
> Thank you so much for your wonderful support in this fic. It means so much to me, and I’m grateful you took the time to read something that’s basically me working out my feelings on the deaths and how they relate to Clarke. It’s been a bit of an emotional ride, so here we are at the last chapter. 
> 
> I responded to someone’s comment last chapter that the ending would take Clarke back to the beginning.
> 
> Here we are.
> 
> Her first death.

CHAPTER EIGHT

_Atom_

 

When she wakes up, she’s surrounded by people.

 

But not the dead.

 

Clarke frowns when she sees her mother hovering over where she lies – and it takes her a few moments to realize that she’s no longer in the meadow. Blinking a few times, Clarke sees Bellamy above her head to the left and she waits for him to leave. For him to yell. For him to attack her as he did in the meadow, the ghost of their once strong relationship nothing more than tendrils of the past.

 

He doesn’t leave. Nor does he shout. Nor does he fight her. Instead, he exhales when she opens her eyes and reaches out to take her hand. It’s warm against her, but in the sharp way heat gets when you’ve been outside too long. It’s like a shock to her system, dragging her back to reality – _this_ reality – when her world isn’t surrounded by ghosts, but people that she loves.

 

“Oh, Clarke.” Abby says, rushing to her head and running her hand down it. “You gave us quite a scare.”

 

Clarke still isn’t entirely sure what’s going on. When she turns to Bellamy, he no longer looks the way that he did when they parted – the way her dream reminded her of. He’s older, softer, but still as strong as he ever was, standing next to her head and holding her hands.

 

Abby says a lot of medical words that she understands but doesn’t quite _process_ , unable to take in more than a few stimuli at a time. So instead she focuses on the two that seem the brightest: the fact that Bellamy is holding her hand and the fact that he’s here. He doesn’t offer up any explanation. In fact, he doesn’t offer anything other than his hand and Clarke thinks that’s more than she ever expected to be.

 

“Clarke, look at me, I need to you to focus.” Abby says, cutting through her own mental breakdown of everything that’s happening. Clarke turns toward her mother, noticing there were so many people in the room that she didn’t realize she had anymore. Murphy, Raven, Madi, Emori, Shaw – even Diyoza stood in the corner with Hope, frowning at Clarke lying on the bed. “You have severe dehydration and exhaustion – you haven’t been taking care of yourself nearly well enough.”

 

Clarke frowns at that. “I-I—” She tries to find the words for it, tries to find a way to explain why Clarke Griffin, the Commander of Death, leader of the Sky People, survivor of Praimfaya, had been reduced to nothing more than a girl in a bed.

 

Then she realized: she was just a girl.

 

The earth made her something she was not. She spent her entire life pretending to be strong for everyone, she spent her entire life trying to be what they needed her to be. But no one ever asked her, what did she need to be? What would keep the nightmares at bay and what would fulfill her soul.

 

As if she conjured them with her thoughts, the ghost that have been visiting her step into the medical bay. There’s more than she ever imagined. She sees Lincoln, Lexa, Anya. Wells approaches her head while her father stands next to Abby, staring at the woman as if she was one of the suns herself.

 

“We know, Clarke.” Abby states when Clarke can’t find the words. “We know you’ve been seeing people.”

 

Clarke’s eyes flick toward Shaw, the only person who would’ve been able to give her that information. Shaw looks sheepishly down at his feet, when Diyoza elbows him and fixes him a stern look. “Listen, I’m sorry Clarke. I know you made me promise not to say anything, but I wish people would’ve said something when we got back from war. I watched my brothers collapse under it all and I wish I would’ve said something. I-I lost…” Shaw clears his throat. “It’s one of my regrets. Sometimes you can’t keep secrets. Not with things like this.”

 

Clarke finds her eyes watering, so she looks at her hands. She’s surrounded by everyone she’s loved – whether they’ve breathed their last breath or not. It’s overwhelming. She’s gotten so used to being alone – _surviving_ alone – that she doesn’t know what to do when they’re all here.

 

“I-I didn’t think it was odd, when it first started happening.” Clarke says, her voice low and scratchy. Her mother hands her a cup of water which she takes a ginger sip of, but is mainly happy she has something to do with her hands. “I didn’t realize why until much later.”

 

“Clarke, extreme exhaustion and hyper vigilance will cause hallucinations—”

 

“It’s not that,” Clarke says quickly. In the corner of the room stands Louise, who nods. “I never wanted Madi to have the Flame because I watched so many people die over it, but I never thought about what it meant for me.” She wrings her hands, trying to get them to calm down. “When Raven went into the City of Light and came out, she received pieces of A.L.I.E.’s skills. When my mom did, she saw the visions. When I did…” Clarke looks to where her father stands next to her mother, and he nods. “All I got in return were ghosts.”

 

Clarke takes another sip of water. The words are already there. Wells steps up behind where she is and places a hand on her shoulder. She tries to find comfort in a person who isn’t there, nor could ever be there again. But maybe that’s not the point.

 

Maybe the point isn’t focusing on their absence.

 

Maybe the point is focusing on their presence within herself.

 

“At first, I didn’t think of anything of it. When I saw people. It was after Praimfaya and the world had ended and there was so much radiation, I thought…”

 

“You thought it was because you were alone at the end of the world.”

 

When Bellamy finishes her sentence, she hears the pain in his voice. They never have talked about that day, save for a few vague questions on his end. Clarke thinks of her dream where she said what she wanted to say and left on her own terms. She wonders how different it would be, if she had said those words. If she’d been honest and vulnerable in a way she never allowed herself to be, maybe the world wouldn’t have ended up in flames.

 

Clarke turns to him and nods. “Yeah,”

 

It’s clear Bellamy didn’t expect her to answer truthfully, because he recoils. She gives him a small, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless, which he frowns at. Bellamy still hasn’t let go of her hand, nor does she want him to. But she’s tired of hiding. Tired of pretending that what she feels isn’t there.

 

She fought so long for the survival of humanity, not realizing that she was losing her own.

 

“I didn’t think about it,” Clarke continues. “Being on a planet is hard. You find ways to keep your sanity. People. Family.” Clarke says, smiling at Madi, who has tears in her eyes. “I never thought it was anything more than loss, when I saw people.” Clarke shakes her head. “But I haven’t been sleeping, since we got out of cryo. And they’ve gotten worse the more I don’t sleep. And I don’t want to, because I’m afraid of what I’ll see if I do.”

 

“Clarke, if the Flame’s code tapped into the memory part of your brain, I can only imagine lack of sleep makes that condition worse.” Abby says. “You should’ve told someone you weren’t sleeping.”

 

“Why would I?” Clarke says. “There are always so many other important things.”

 

“Because,” Bellamy says gruffly at her side. “You aren’t alone in the world anymore, Clarke.”

 

He says it as if it is such a simple statement.

 

Perhaps to him, it is. Maybe she was wrong – that he never stopped viewing her as family. That in a world that seems destined to keep them apart was really one that she was hiding from. It was far too easy to hide from intimacy than it was to lean into something that might allow her to fall.

 

“What was the cause of all this?” Raven asks, approaching the bed. “Because if A.L.I.E.’s code was running through your brain all through the valley, but you handled it fine, why is it so bad now? Why after you woke up from cryo?”

 

Clarke finally takes her hands out of Bellamy’s. He startles at this gesture, but when she hoists herself up to a seated position and fixes him a look, he waits.

 

“I left you to die.” She says.

 

Clarke knows no one expected her to say it. But Monty told her that it was time to be the good guy. Maybe being a good guy isn’t what she thought it was. Maybe it was more than simply sacrificing yourself for mankind, maybe it was more than tragic decisions and a bitter end.

 

Maybe being a good guy is throwing out the notion that sacrificing every piece of yourself is the only way to receive love. Maybe being a good guy is embracing intimacy. Accepting vulnerability. Allowing people to make their own decisions – shoulder their own burdens – without interjecting. Perhaps being the good guy was knowing when you made the wrong choice and admitted it.

 

Her lower lip trembles. “I was never willing to give you up.” She says, trying to draw on the strength of those she lost around her.

 

If she had one more day with her father, she would tell him how much she loved him and spend all her time listening to everything he had to say. If she had one more day with Wells, she would work to repair their friendship, let him know he was loved. She would hold everyone closer and closer, breathing them in for every second that she had.

 

She would be brave, even though it may hurt more later.

 

“Every time, I-I couldn’t do it.” Clarke tells Bellamy. “I couldn’t let you go. I was willing…” Clarke wipes under her eyes. “I was willing to give everything up for you. And when you left me chained up in the bunker, I realized that we aren’t the people we used to be anymore. I used to think that meant that we weren’t family any more. That… that you didn’t care about me or my own family.”

 

Bellamy’s eyes water.

 

“I don’t think that’s true, though.” Clarke continues. “I think that we were separated, in the worst possible manner. And even though I only knew you for less than a year before Praimfaya, I _know you_ , Bellamy Blake. There’s no time in space or event that could change that. Because of this.”

 

Clarke reaches out and places her hand over his heart. He flinches, just like he did all those years ago.

 

It’s as though they are the only two in the room.

 

“I know you,” Clarke says, her words catching. “And I was afraid that I was going to crumble under indifference. I’ve lost so many people, Bellamy. So have you, so has everyone in this room. I couldn’t bear to lose you. We’ve been through a lot together, you and I. I lost you that day. Maybe not in life, but I lost what we had. I was so afraid and hurt,” Clarke settles herself because she feels like she’s on the verge of losing it again. “And I’m sorry.”

 

There’s a lot of loss in the Universe.

 

Lost family, lost loves, but one of the sharpest is the loss of oneself. For if you don’t have yourself, at the end of the day, where do you belong in the world?

 

Clarke is finding this out. And there’s no better place to discover than surrounded by everyone she loves, both here and gone.

 

***

 

The next few days are quiet.

 

Clarke isn’t allowed by herself for a long time, under strict orders from her mother that it’s for her own good. Clarke gets it on a medical level, but at the same time, it’s driving her a little insane. So when she finds an opportunity where no one is hovering around her, she takes it as an opportunity to escape. It isn’t meant to be rebellious, just as it isn’t meant to be harmful. Clarke simply needs time to think – to not be around people, despite their best intentions.

 

The planet is beautiful. It’s beautiful in a way that she never allowed herself to imagine. It’s made with colors she can’t wait to paint and a future she never thought she could. For the first time in her life, Clarke begins to realize, she may have her quiet ending to a nuclear life.

 

Of course, she never really is alone.

 

When she sees him, she isn’t afraid anymore. Sure, she’s a bit surprised, but the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she shouldn’t be.

 

There, at the edge of the water, stands Atom. He gives her a slight wave, beckoning her over to where he is. She obliges, pace slow but intentional. When she approaches him, he smiles at her. “Clarke,” he says, a teasing expression on his lips. “And so we meet again.”

 

“So we do.” Clarke says.

 

The two look out at the water. Clarke isn’t sure of what to say, but she’s not afraid of him. Or any of the ghosts around her. They’re there, etched in her skin in ways she’ll never be able to erase. But it means they’re with her, and so it has to be enough.

 

“I was your first,” Atom smirks. “I feel like I should wear that as a badge of honor.”

 

Clarke snorts, despite herself. “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

 

“Nah, I suppose not.” He says. “Not something to really celebrate.”

 

He reaches out, grabbing her wrist. She flinches at the touch even though it’s nothing harmful. “Thank you, Clarke.” Atom says, with every ounce of authenticity a person can have. “Thank you, for killing me.”

 

Clarke’s eyes water. “Why are you thanking me?”

 

“I was in so much pain. I wouldn’t have survived much longer. You spared me hurt, even though it came at a great personal cost.” Atom explains. “I know what it did to you, killing me. It opened you up to so much more – to _taking_ so much more. But you still did it.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure how to respond to that. Not sure of how to take someone _thanking her_ for making the hard decision, not crucifying her for it.

 

“I don’t know if you remember this, but Bellamy was there too.” Atom continues. “I asked him to do it.”

 

“I remember.” Clarke says, voice low.

 

“He couldn’t. For all his bravado, he holds human life to a much higher standard than he lets on. Well, that must be obvious now. Back then? Maybe not so much.” Atom snorts. “You took that burden from him. You took and you took and you took. Maybe sometimes it was necessary. Maybe sometimes you were the only person who could do it. But I think you know, deep down, that is not the case. You helped him that day – you helped _me_ that day.”

 

Clarke looks at the water. It’s sparkling in the sunlight, no longer a scary abyss before her. But an adventure, something to be discovered. “Now what?”

 

“Now?” Atom says, “We move forward. It’s all anyone can do.” He squeezes her hand. “Will you help me? One more time?”

 

Clarke squeezes his hand back. “Of course.”

 

He leads her to the water once more. Not to go in, but to stand, side-by-side. Lowering him gently into the rippling water, Clarke smiles at him. “You’re going to be okay,” she says, just like she had all those years ago.

 

“So are you.”

 

When he says it, she sucks in a breath. Gripping him tightly, she nods, her eyes tearing up.

 

Then, she sings softly. She sings like she did that day, a gentle melody. A drifting one, one that is hopeful and longing all at once. He smiles when she does so, closing his eyes in a serene way that she didn’t see upon his death. With a final push, Clarke watches as he floats further and further into the water, until she doesn’t see him any longer.

 

Clarke isn’t sure how long she stands there, watching the water even though Atom no longer is in her sight. It’s comforting, the gentle pull of the waves. For the first time, it doesn’t feel like the ocean is coming to take her away. For the first time, it feels something akin to peace.

 

“Clarke,”

 

When she hears her name, she knows there’s only one person it could be. He’d been finding her in the most compromised of situations, at the worst she could possibly be. But he always found her nonetheless, tethered, as if he’s as connected to her and her to him. Turning around, Clarke smiles. “Hey.”

 

Sure, there’s an undercurrent of worry in his eyes, but he’s calmer than she’s seen him in a while. “Hey, he says, marching up. She wades out of the water, her clothes sticking to her and dripping to the ground. “I figured I’d find you here.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“You’ve always had a thing for oceans.” He says with a chuckle.

 

She can’t help but smile. “There aren’t any oceans on the Ark.”

 

“No, there aren’t.” He agrees. “I wanted to find you, make sure you’re alright.”

 

Clarke actually thinks about this. She thinks, after everything, it deserves a thought-out answer. “Maybe one day,” she settles on. “Maybe one day it’ll—”

 

“Get easier.” Bellamy states. He understands. Of course he does. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. And I don’t know how to put this—”

 

“I think we’re well beyond having secrets, you and I.” Clarke offers.

 

“Did you mean what you said?” Bellamy asks quickly, as if he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve. “In the meadow?”

 

Clarke thinks of the meadow and her hallucination of Bellamy. “What did you hear?”

 

“Enough.” He responds.

 

“Are you asking if I love you, Bellamy Blake?” Clarke asks.

 

She tells herself to be brave. After all, the ghosts of people she was not brave enough for are around her.

 

When he doesn’t answer, she places a hand on his arm. “If you have to ask that question, I am so sorry.” Clarke says. “I have always loved you, Bellamy. And I was always too afraid to say it. A part of me hoped you knew. But I was kidding myself. Using it as an excuse.”

 

Bellamy swallows, as if he’s thrown by the intimacy of it all. It makes Clarke smile, that some things don’t change. That she can still find herself catching him off guard, in ways she used to love during their time on the ground.

 

Because she wasn’t wrong. He’s still Bellamy. She’s no longer afraid that he changed.

 

“I poisoned Octavia for you.”

 

He says the words so suddenly, it’s her turn to be startled. Something doesn’t compute when he says it. “N-No,” she starts, unable to process what he’s saying. “You did it because she was going to kill everyone, you did it to save—”

 

“You.” He states, a bit more firm this time. “I know you made me promise to look after Madi, I know you thought you were going to die and that you were ready, but _I_ wasn’t. I’ve lived through your death once and yes, I survived, but I couldn’t save you then. I couldn’t stop the end of the world, I couldn’t make you get back to the ship in time. As much as I wished it, as much as I wanted you with me, I couldn’t do anything about it. I left you behind.”

 

“You did what you had to do, Bellamy.” Clarke says, eyes watering. “Everyone is alive because you used your head.”

 

“If I’ve learned anything from the end of earth, it’s that there’s a time and place to use your head, Clarke. But using your heart…” Bellamy sucks in a breath. “Those are the decisions I can live with. And I made a choice in that moment to listen to my heart.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure what to say. There are very few points in the world where she isn’t sure how to respond. Doesn’t have an answer immediately at the ready. It almost seems implausible.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t forgive me for putting the Flame in Madi. She said it straight to my face. And yes, you leaving me to Octavia hurt in a way I can’t explain. But you forgave me. Like you said you wouldn’t do.”

 

“I’m tired of not having you in my life.” Clarke says distantly. “I did that for six years. That was enough.”

 

“I know what you mean.” Bellamy says quietly.

 

The two stand at the water, watching the suns. It’s a peaceful moment. Clarke used to think this was one of those times that she would remember in her dreams. The moments between the wars when the earth was at its most calm and she was gifted something small.

 

For the first time, she thinks they’re no longer going to be stolen. She thinks that maybe it’s done. The Universe is done with their suffering. They’ve left their tattoos of loss and hurt on the world, but now, the goal is no longer surviving. It’s surviving with everyone they lost and doing better.

 

Clarke bites her lip. “I called you.”

 

She says, because they’re being honest and she needs him to know.

 

Bellamy doesn’t react and she realizes he already knew.

 

It doesn’t stop her from continuing, though. “Do you remember that radio that stopped working, right as Praimfaya hit?”

 

“Yes.” The word is rough, filled with words they never said to each other.

 

“I fixed it. Turns out, if you’re desperate enough, you’ll remember what Raven taught you, even if it didn’t make a terrible amount of sense at the time. Same way I fixed the Rover.” Clarke laughs. “I don’t know why I lied to you before. When you asked how I got through the end of the world. I think… I think I was afraid that you were different, that too much time had passed. You wouldn’t be the person I spoke to every day anymore. Which is ridiculous, of course.”

 

Bellamy doesn’t respond right away. When he finally does, it’s not a question she expects. “What did you talk about?”

 

“All sorts of things. I-I wasn’t sure if you could hear me, or if you just couldn’t answer back. So I just talked to you. It made me feel… less alone.”

 

“I visited your cell.” Bellamy offers. “At first I couldn’t bring myself to go in. It was too – it was too painful, you know? But when a few months past and it wasn’t quite as fresh, it felt like I could really be with you, you know?”

 

“I do.”

 

Because she does. Maybe she gets it more than anyone would.

 

The fact is, the two of them don’t make sense. They were thrust together, under impossible circumstance. But… they were _still here_. They found comfort in each other in events that no one should ever have to experience. And they still stand together.

 

“Where do we go from here?” Clarke asks.

 

It holds more weight than a question usually should. Because it means so much more. More than plans for the planet, more than plans for their people.

 

“I don’t know.” Bellamy answer honestly, moving close to her so that they’re almost touching. It’s like he’s asking permission, after everything. After the fights, after leaving. After the ghosts and the panic, after everything. “But I know what I want.”

 

Clarke looks up at him at that. “Me too.”

 

Carefully, he reaches out, his hands on the side of her face. Leaning down, he places his forehead on hers, gently touching it as he breathes. It’s crossing a line they never had – a line that Clarke was so afraid to do so. A line she never thought she’d get back.

 

It’s still a question. A question of what they could be when the earth settles. Once the planet they once called home grows cold by their touch, they can decide who they want to be. A fresh start – something that she assumed she’d never get a chance at.

 

What were they, when they weren’t at war. When they weren’t soldiers, warriors, leaders, confidants?

 

Who were they?

 

At this point, Clarke isn’t sure. But she thinks that it may be the beginning of something that will shift the stars.

 

Because the ghosts will always be there. The deaths of those she loved, the deaths of those she fought, they meant something. Those deaths _meant_ something. Their lives touched the world and imprinted on her heart in the best and worst ways.

 

Above all else, perhaps it made her realize the importance of the choices and the lives that were still with her. Apologizing when needed, loving often, and cherishing the world around them.

 

“I still have hope, though.” Clarke says, bringing her own hand up to the side of his face.

 

“You do?” he asks, the makings of a small smile on his face.

 

“We still breathing, aren’t we?”

 

He laughs, squeezing his eyes shut as he brings her closer. Wrapping his arms around her, it’s different from the other times they’ve embraced. It’s always been after an attack, a goodbye, a panicked need of comfort.

 

But this?

 

This feels as natural as the air around them. It feels like the start of something they will be doing for a very long time.

 

This feels like hope.

 

As the two stand at the edge of the water, Clarke reminds herself that those she’s lost aren’t to be feared. They are to be loved. So tonight she’ll remind herself to hold Madi a little tighter. To give Murphy a hard time, but squeeze his arm affectionately. To hug Raven without need of explanation. To tell Shaw she appreciates his help. His concern. To hold Bellamy close, as if they had all the time in the world.

 

To open herself to more.

 

Sure. The risk of loss is greater.

 

But god, is it beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh my goodness! There it is!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! And I know I didn’t hit all the important people – honestly, this fic would be so long if I did everyone I wanted, but I wanted it to end hopefully and how to live with the sorrow you feel.
> 
> Because loss doesn’t leave you. It stays there, but there are ways to learn in this new environment. And I think it’s brave when you open yourself up to it again, knowing what it’s like to lose someone. 
> 
> My headcanon for the future of this particular world: Bellamy and Clarke get close, but don’t start actually dating until she’s figured out how to handle the remnants of the Flame. It happens small and quiet, unlike their lives. One day they’re simply together, then Bellamy moves a bit too close and then Clarke decides it’s TIME. And after she makes that decision, they get the world they never were offered on Earth.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading loves. I hope you enjoyed and I appreciate you all so much! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I told myself I was going to be taking a break after The Price of Peace, and then this happens…
> 
> The ending of The Price of Peace is what really inspired this. When I wrote the final scene, it made me realize how much I really wanted to work through some of the deaths on the show. And after hearing that spoiler, I was inspired to write a peace that was more psychological than heavy plot.
> 
> Moving forward, various dead will be a part of this story. It will be very heavily character / relationship driven, rather than plot. Mainly, I’m writing my feelings. So who even knows!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! :)


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